


Fading Scars

by acme146



Series: Fading Scars [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU after Deathly Hallows, Canon Compliant, Cross-Generational Friendship, Cursed Child Need Not Apply, Draco Malfoy Gets A Redemption Arc, Dumbledore Critical, Family, Family Bonding, Multi, Percy Weasley Gets A Redemption Arc, Queer Characters, Ravenclaw Albus Severus Potter, Ravenclaw Scorpius Malfoy, Severus Snape Bashing, To a point, Worldbuilding, headcanons forever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9652856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acme146/pseuds/acme146
Summary: When the war is over, the world must be rebuilt. Some do it through fixing the old; some do it by creating the new. In the end, the most is accomplished when old wounds are healed and new possibilities are given to the next generation, creating the kind of peace that can be enjoyed by the toughest of warriors. After all, the hardest fight of all is to make a world when the biggest problems are ones that are easy to solve.Except for Quidditch. This is still a problem.Featuring many headcanons, some mild bashing of the Cursed Child, and Mad-Eye the Ferret.





	1. Ages of the Next Generation

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my worldbuilding series! This is the backdrop for the rest of the Fading Scars series--everything in this is canon for that. This one will be updated less frequently, as the entries will be longer and are more for interest's sake. If anyone has any suggestions or prompts, please let me know!   
> This first chapter is the ages I will be calling 'canon' for this verse. Other than the Potter and Ron/Hermione's children there is...almost no information. Anywhere. Seriously. I spent a lot of time looking and I eventually gave up and made up my own. They should be decently consistent with canon up to Deathly Hallows, and if I ever mix up ages please tell me.   
> I also sorted everyone, including some resorting, because I...don't care what the Cursed Child says. And I have plans.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme

Harry James Potter (1980) & Ginevra Molly Weasley (1981)  
Teddy Remus Lupin (1998)—Hufflepuff. Seeker (godson)  
James Sirius Potter (2004)—Gryffindor. Chaser  
Albus Severus Potter (2006)—Ravenclaw. Game artist  
Lily Luna Potter (2008)—Hufflepuff. Beater

William Arthur Weasley & Fleur Isabel Delacour  
Victoire Apolline Weasley (2000)—Ravenclaw. Seeker  
Dominique Fleur Weasley (2001)—Ravenclaw. Keeper  
Louis Cedric Weasley (2004)—Slytherin. Chaser 

Percy Ignatius Weasley & Audrey Kelly  
Molly Amelia Weasley (2005)—Gryffindor. Seeker  
Lucy Audrey Weasley (2007)—Gryffindor 

George Weasley & Angelina Johnson  
Fred Weasley II (2002)—Slytherin. Beater  
Roxanne Katherine Weasley (2003)—Ravenclaw. Chaser 

Ron Bilius Weasley & Hermione Jean Granger  
Rose Minerva Granger-Weasley (2006)—Ravenclaw. Chaser  
Hugo Rubeus Granger-Weasley (2008)—Hufflepuff. Beater

Draco Malfoy & Astoria Greengrass  
Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy (2006)—Ravenclaw. Chaser. 

Luna Lovegood & Rolf Scamander  
Lorcan Scamander (2011)—Ravenclaw. Commentator  
Lysander Scamander (2011)—Hufflepuff. Seeker


	2. 1998: Harry Potter and The Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just before Hermione returns to Hogwarts and he and Ron become Aurors, and Harry has an idea for a treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note before you start this one--the cuddling is purely platonic. It will make sense later on.

            It was a warm night in August, and Harry was playing with a gurgling Teddy when the thought came to him.

            “Andromeda,” he asked, “how do you convert wizarding money to Muggle money?”

            Andromeda was rocking in the nursery chair, a large rocker she and Harry had picked out together. “You go to Gringotts, and the goblins will do it for you. Why?”

            “I’ve got an idea for something to do with Ron and Hermione,” Harry explained. “It needs Muggle money for it.”

            “Well, they’re all repaired now. Will they let you in?” Andromeda’s lips twitched.

            Harry grinned back at her, tossing Teddy in the air and catching him safely. “That’s all been sorted. I just have to promise not to go about unaccompanied.”

            “And you can manage that?”

            “I’ll have to try, or I’m not going to have much money.”

            After putting Teddy in his cot, Harry hugged Andromeda goodbye and headed outside. Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on Diagon Alley, and the new Gringotts front, and spun.

            With a pop, he Apparated just on the Gringotts step. The goblin guard scowled at him (Harry was fairly sure he recognized him from a few months back), but he stood aside as Harry approached the door.

            It was nearly dinner time, and the bank was nearly empty. The goblins looked intensely bored.

            The one Harry approached looked nearly three hundred years old. Their eyes were keenly silver, and they blinked frequently as Harry explained what he wanted.

            “Perfectly easy, Mr. Potter,” the goblin confirmed. “Would you prefer that in cash, or do you want a credit card?”

            “You can do that?” Harry asked, stunned.

            The goblin bared their teeth in what it no doubt thought was a friendly grin. “Of course, Mr. Potter.”

            “What is the conversion rate, again?” Harry was suddenly worried. He’d never really been concerned about money in the wizarding world, but in the Muggle world…

            “Put it this way, Mr. Potter,” the goblin said. “You could live in a hotel for the rest of your life.”

            Harry grinned back. “Excellent.”

****************************

            A couple of errands and one Apparition trip later, and he was back at the Burrow. He was technically supposed to be living at Grimmauld Place, but Kreacher had enlisted several other house elves and was cleaning out the house top to bottom. “Master Harry will not recognize the house,” he promised, only wincing slightly as he looked around the dim and gloomy halls.

            Harry dearly hoped not.

            So for now he was staying at the Burrow, in Ginny’s room (with several watchful brothers listening intently). Hermione was there too, to spend the last two weeks with Ron before she went back to Hogwarts.

            Mrs. Weasley greeted him with a warm smile and a tight hug. “How’s little Teddy?” she asked.

            “He’s doing really well.” Harry didn’t want to talk about the moment Teddy’s eyes had turned a soft hazel and his hair a bright pink. “Andromeda says hello.”

            “We should have them over before Hermione and Ginny go back to school,” Mrs. Weasley suggested. “It would be fun.”

            “That would be nice,” Harry agreed. “Excuse me, Mrs. Weasley, I need to speak to Ron and Hermione about something.”

            “Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” Mrs. Weasley called after him as he mounted the stairs.

            Harry stopped himself just before he opened Ron’s door, and knocked firmly. “Ron?” he called. “Is Hermione in there?”

            _Please don’t be snogging._

“Come on in, mate!”

            Ron had Hermione cuddled against his side, but they were both reading; Hermione a Transfiguration book, Ron the Auror’s manual. Once again. They were due to start the week after school began, but Harry was still surprised that Ron was still reading it so early.

            “Hello Harry!” Hermione smiled at him. “How’s Teddy?”

            “He’s…he’s happy.” Harry sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you two have any plans for this weekend?”

            “Not really. Isn’t Ginny going to help Dean and Seamus move house?”

            One of the most surprising relationships to come out of the war, Harry reflected. “Yes. And I thought the three of us could go somewhere.”

            “Where?” Hermione asked curiously.

            “It’s a surprise,” Harry said. He’d made all the arrangements with the help of a friendly Muggle librarian.

            Ron shrugged. “Okay. What should we pack?”

************************************

            The next evening the three of them bid goodbye to the Weasleys and Apparated into town. Harry had been purposely vague when he told Hermione where to go—“Near Trafalgar Square”—and still refused to say where they were headed. The three of them carried Muggle suitcases, made magically light of course. Ron looked around curiously, still baffled by the bright, blinking, electronic displays.

            It was Hermione who guessed it first. She shrieked when she saw the hotel. “Oh, Harry!”

            “I thought you might guess,” Harry grinned.

            They were walking up to the Savoy, the first posh hotel that had popped into Harry’s head.

            Hermione rounded on him. “How did you think of this?!”

            “What is this place?” Ron asked.

            “It’s the Savoy,” Hermione said dreamily. “It’s a luxury Muggle hotel. My parents came here for their honeymoon…it’s a really lovely place.”

            Harry scratched his head. “I thought it might be nice to go somewhere really posh together, especially after…”

            He winced, realizing that part of what had sparked the idea had been his argument with Ron. _Did you think we’d be staying in five-star hotels?_

To his relief, Ron smiled sheepishly. “After the tent? Brilliant idea, Harry.”

            Harry gave him a grateful look. “I booked the weekend. There’s some cool things to do at the hotel, and we can relax. I’ve let everyone know that we won’t be able to be reached.”

            Hermione took Ron’s hand and started tugging him towards the door. “Come on, Ron!”

            The front desk required a bit of persuasion to believe that Harry was of age, but Hermione’s whispered spell finally convinced the woman, and she handed over the keys. “Will two be enough?” she asked.

            “Yes, thank you.” Harry took the keys. Then his eyes went wide. “Oh no.”

            “What is it?” Hermione asked.

            Harry pulled them away from the desk. “I forgot—do you two want your own room?”

            “Don’t be silly, Harry.” Hermione touched his arm. “We’re here together.” She grinned. “We can certainly keep ourselves under control.”

            Harry blushed.            

            “Oi!” Harry turned to see Ron staring at a bellhop. “That’s my bag!”

            “Ron!” Hermione scolded. She beamed at the bellhop. “I’m sorry, he hasn’t been to a hotel in a while.”

            The bellhop grinned. “Not to worry, miss. Shall I take all your bags?”

            “That’d be great.”

            Ron stared in wonder as the bellhop put the three bags on a trolley.

            Harry tried to hide his smile.

******************************

            The room was lovely and huge; two king beds, a large toilet and a television. After Harry tipped the bellman, they stood in wonder and just looked.

            “Bloody hell,” Ron whistled.

            “It’s lovely.” Hermione clapped her hands. “Which bed do you want, Harry?”

            “I can take this one,” Harry said, setting his bag down next to the bed furthest to the door.

            Hermione climbed onto the other one and lay down. “Have you got any plans for us, Harry?” Ron joined her.

            Harry copied them, looking over at his friends, who seemed more relaxed than they had in months. “I thought we could go to the pool and then get some food. We can get room service.”

            Ron tensed.

            “What is it, love?” Hermione asked.

            “I—I don’t really know how to swim,” Ron admitted. “I never learned.”

            “I don’t know either,” Harry said encouragingly. “But it’s a nice pool, and we can stand in the shallow end.”

            “I can teach you both,” Hermione offered. “I took lessons when I was little.”

            Ron still looked hesitant, but he agreed and they set off for the pool.

            There were only a few other people in the pool, and the water was pleasantly cool as the three of them slipped in. The water was up to Harry’s chest, and he felt a brief moment of panic. Hermione, however, remained perfectly calm.

            “Right. Both of you put your faces in the water.”

            “What?”          

            “That’s the first step.”

            Ron plunged his head in the water. Harry rolled his eyes, then closed them and put his face in the water. It was a bit strange; he half expected to plunge into memories. But he stayed still, and a moment later he looked up, vision blurry.

            Ron was rubbing his eyes. “It stings!”

            “It’s got chlorine in it, Ron. It keeps the water clean.”

            Ron scowled. “I’m going to use a charm.”

            “Keep your voice down!” Hermione hissed. “We can try to get goggles later. Just keep your eyes shut when your face is in the water.”

            “What’s the next step, Hermione?” Harry intervened.

            “Floating on your back,” Hermione said, demonstrating.

            Harry had done that before, but Ron had a good deal of trouble. “It’s impossible,” he spluttered after his third try, eyes red. “You can’t do it if you’re tall.”

            “Try again,” Hermione coaxed. “We’ll help you.”

            She and Harry moved to either side of Ron. Ron lay back reluctantly, and Harry supported his shoulders while Hermione held his legs. After a couple of minutes, Ron relaxed, and Hermione slowly let go of his legs. When he remained still, Harry stepped away, letting go of his shoulders. Ron’s eyes remained closed, and he floated.

            “This is nice,” he muttered.

            Hermione floated on her back too. “It is nice,” she replied.

            Harry joined them, and the three of them just floated in silence, letting the water support them.

            Eventually Ron got bored and started splashing Hermione, and Harry came to her defence, and an old man glared at them until they stopped and climbed out of the pool. Hermione insisted they try the hot tub, and they soaked for a while until they were hungry.

            “What’s room service?” Ron asked when they returned to their room.

            “There’s a menu, and we can eat in here.” Hermione looked hesitant. “It’s more expensive though, Harry.”

            “Don’t worry about money,” Harry said firmly. “The Ministry’s paying for this trip.”

            As an attempted apology, the Ministry had given them the reward money once intended for their capture.

            “Well then,” Ron said, looking cheerful, “let’s get a feast!”

            The man who brought the food about an hour later barely managed to conceal his surprise that there were only three people in the room. The three sat on the floor in the big fluffy robes and ate, drinking lemonade (no pumpkin juice).

            It had been a long week, and when Hermione almost fell asleep eating chocolate cake, Ron suggested they go to sleep. He and Harry changed while Hermione slipped into the bathroom. Harry was so sleepy he couldn’t be bothered to brush his teeth, and flicked the lights off with his wand. “G’night.”

            “Goodnight, Harry,” Hermione whispered back.

*************************************

            Harry woke in the dark to Hermione screaming.

            He bolted out of bed, lighting his wand. Hermione was asleep, struggling in Ron’s arms as she wailed. Ron was frantically trying to wake her. “C’mon, love, wake up!”

            “Hermione!” Harry called. “C’mon, Hermione!”

            Hermione jolted awake, shaking all over. Ron held her close. “C’mon, darling, it’s alright.”

            Harry had never heard Ron call Hermione any kind of pet name. He felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He turned to give them some privacy, but…

            “Harry,” Hermione choked out. When Harry turned around, she was holding her hands out to him. Harry sat down gingerly, taking her hands.

            “What was it, darling?” Ron whispered.

            “The Great Hall,” Hermione sobbed. “With everyone, _everyone…”_

And Harry knew what she meant. He had the same dream, almost every night. It wasn’t only the dead, but the still living that lay cold and still…all the people he’d ever loved, and it was so hard to break out of that dream…

            In his wandlight he could see Ron swallow hard.

            “We’re still here,” Harry managed. “We’re still here, ’Mione.”

            Cautiously, he laid down next to her. Hermione pulled him close, and Harry looked at Ron. He wanted to help, of course, but…

            “Put the light out, mate,” Ron whispered. “We need to try to get back to sleep.”

            So Harry muttered “Nox”, and put his arm around Hermione. Ron tugged them both close and for the first time in months, Harry fell back to sleep without fear.

***********************************

            It was bright in the room when Harry woke up with a mouthful of Hermione’s hair. Ron was snoring, his arm slung over both of them. Hermione was just waking too, and she smiled gratefully at Harry. “Thanks.”

            “Anytime,” Harry said, and meant it, because they were his brother and sister, and he’d loved them before he’d loved anyone else. “Should we wake him?”

            Hermione considered it for a moment. “Let’s get breakfast first. He’s always grumpy before food, remember.”

            Harry smiled and reached for the phone.

            After another huge breakfast, they wandered around for a while. Ron discovered the spa and was fascinated by the treatments. He insisted they try them all, and Harry dearly wished he’d brought a camera as Ron lay in a chair with a robe and his face covered in a mask, cucumbers on his eyes.

            That night Hermione suggested they borrow a film (this took a while to explain to Ron). As Harry studied the list, he was startled to feel himself start to cry.

            “Mate, what’s wrong?” Ron asked. He put an arm around Harry’s shoulder.

            “I—I just—I never thought I’d have this,” Harry explained, his throat tight. “Never be happy like this. Safe. With family, not _ever…”_

And Ron hugged him close on one side, and Hermione on the other, because they knew better than any that their friend had once been a very lonely little boy, and was still a very hurt man.

            That night there was no discussion. They spent the night in the same bed.

***************************************

            The next morning they returned to the Burrow, and in two weeks Harry and Ron saw Hermione off at King’s Cross before returning to a beautifully redone, welcoming Grimmauld Place. Hermione would graduate top of the class, and Ron and Harry would fly through Auror training (though Harry had trouble with the Deception training and Ron struggled with Keeping One’s Cool). They would get married, have children, have new careers and families and dreams.

            But every year, no matter what, they would take a weekend, just the three of them, and go to a five star hotel. They went to a different one each time, and Ron tried every single spa treatment and Harry learned to love swimming and Hermione became fascinated with watching terrible Muggle movies.

            And every time, even the years when Hermione was pregnant, even when Harry was injured, even when they were getting old, they ended up sleeping in the same bed. Sometimes it was for comfort, sometimes it was for cheer, and always for love. They would lie there, and each would think that they were the luckiest person in the world.

            The other two, of course, would disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote the Savoy based on its current website and some educated guessing. If anyone worked there in the late 90s and wants to tell me I got details wrong...I mean, I'll listen, but I might keep it the way it is too.   
> Cheers,   
> Acme


	3. The Godsons Part I (1998)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sentencing of his parents leaves Draco Malfoy with questions, and the legacies of godfathers aren't set in stone.

               “Lucius Malfoy, you are found guilty of your crimes. Narcissa Malfoy, you are found guilty of your crimes.”

                The couple bowed their heads.

                “As punishment, your assets will be seized for the Survivor Fund. You will not be able to profit from your evil deeds. You will be placed on house arrest for the next seven years. Once that time is finished, you will be required to perform charity services, to be determined at that hour.”

                Lucius was speechless. Narcissa was weeping.

                Murmurs went around the courtroom as the Malfoys were ushered out. A few were loud enough that they echoed.

                “Getting off easy…”

                “The worst of the lot…”

                And then one didn’t bother with murmuring at all.

                “First their kid gets off with community service, now this! I know Azkaban’s been demolished, but they’re not even getting prison time! I thought we were doing away with bribes!”

                Their neighbour shushed them. “It wasn’t a bribe,” they said sternly. “It was a wish.”

                “Who from?”    

* * *

 

                Draco Malfoy had never been to the Black family home. His mother had told him stories as a child about all the Dark artifacts there: “an embarrassment of riches”. But thanks to ‘my worthless cousin’, they’d never been able to gain access. It looked very disappointing from the outside.

                Taking a deep breath, Draco walked up the stairs and rang the bell. He recognized the house-elf that answered—Creeper, wasn’t it? He’d come to tell them all about the ‘worthless cousin’; he’d started the plan that had landed his father in jail…and killed the ‘worthless cousin’.

                Who also happened to be Harry Potter’s godfather.

                “Mister Malfoy,” the elf said. “Master Harry is expecting you. Do come in.”

                Draco walked inside, his eyes widening.

                His mother had painted a picture of a house dripping with darkness, but this house was…honestly, quite cheerful. The floors were clean and bright, the walls were a soft yellow. There was only one portrait on the wall (a sleeping Phineas Nigellus) and there wasn’t a single house-elf head in sight.

                Harry Potter came down the stairs, a nervous smile on his face. “Hello, Malfoy.”

                “Potter.” Draco couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “You got my owl, then?”

                Harry cocked his head. “Would you be here if I didn’t?”

                _Damn him._

“Kreacher, can you bring tea into the drawing room?” Harry gestured to Draco. “Come on up.”   

                Draco climbed the stairs, still looking around in disbelief. It was almost cozy in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and that didn’t seem right. Then again, considering its new owner, perhaps it was.

                Potter sat down on a new looking sofa. Ill at ease, Draco sat across from him on a matching chair. Kreacher brought in tea and bowed to Harry before leaving the room.

                “You don’t have to do that,” Potter called after him. He picked up his mug, and after a moment’s hesitation, Draco copied him. The tea was good; strong and black.

                “Do you take anything in it?” Potter asked.

                Draco shook his head. His hands trembled only slightly, and that was good.

                Potter put his mug down. “Alright, why did you want to see me?”

                Draco sighed. “My parent’s sentencing was yesterday.”

                Potter nodded. “I know.”

                “Then you know that they did not deserve their sentence.”

                “It was as light as I could make it, Malfoy—”

                “So it was you?” Draco asked, thunderstruck. “You interfered on their behalf?”

                “Yes.” Potter sipped his tea and made a face, reaching for the sugar. “Well, interfered is a strong word. I…let the Wizenagamot know that I thought they didn’t need prison time.”

                Draco stared at him. “I don’t understand. My parents were Death Eaters. My father hurt your friends—he gave You-Know-Who’s diary to your girlfriend!”

                “And your mother saved my life,” Potter replied calmly. “She pretended I was dead, so Voldemort would take me back to the castle.”

                “She didn’t do it for you.” He didn’t want to say that—maybe Potter didn’t know after all—but he just smiled.

                “I know. She did it for you.”

                Malfoy swallowed hard, remembering the moment—just before Bellatrix died—when his mother had found him and swept him into her arms. His father had cried with relief as he sheltered them both as best he could from the spells firing through the air around them.

                “And that’s why I wanted to help,” Harry said. “She loved you, and I know your father does too, even if he doesn’t know how to show it…and I thought there’d been enough orphans in this war.”

                Draco’s mouth tightened. He’d caused some of those orphans. And so had his parents. But he still had his.

                “I will never like them,” Potter continued, “but I think this way is better. We’ve got to put more thought into imprisoning people and what we want to accomplish with that, but for now they’re being punished with some hope that they can be free again.”

                “And I can still see them,” Draco said. His parents had insisted he move out so he wouldn’t be trapped in their house, but he was already planning to visit at least twice a week. “Thank you, Potter.”

                “You’re welcome.”

                The room got quiet, and Draco fidgeted. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out.

                “Sorry for what?”

                It was a fair question. They had quite a history. Draco didn’t have the energy to get into all of it today, but there was one important point he needed to make up for, now that he understood how much it hurt.

                “I’m sorry you lost your godfather.”

                Potter went still.

                “I mean, I’ve lost mine now too,” Draco said. “Severus is dead, and I never realized how much I relied on him, and I know I did my best to get yours sent back to prison, and it’s my family’s fault he’s dead…” he was rambling, knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry he’s gone, because it’s horrible.”

                “Draco.” The name sounded strange, coming from Potter. “I—I never knew Professor Snape was your godfather.”

                Draco nodded. “I didn’t talk about it much, but yeah. He came over every Saturday night when I was small.” And every Saturday night during the war, no matter what. Last night was the first Saturday without him.

                Potter took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. And…thank you. I miss him.”

                “You know, you’re a bit lucky.”

                “How do you mean?”

                “At least you know he—Sirius—he loved you.”

                Potter swallowed hard. “Yes, he did. And I loved him.”

                “I don’t know that Severus loved me.” That was the worst part, that was the hardest part of last night. “I mean, he always seemed to, but he always seemed so loyal to Father and the Death Eaters and I just...it could have been an act. I’ll never know.”

                Potter leaned forward. “Did you love him?”

                “Yes.” He’d adored Uncle Sev, when he was still allowed to call him that, of course. Even now, after the betrayal, he still loved the man.

                “Then that’s what’s important, really. How you feel.”

                Draco nodded. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Our godfathers hated each other so much, and then they got godsons—”

                “Who carried on the tradition?” Harry smiled wryly. “It makes more sense than us being friends. God, the plans Ron and I used to make—”

                “You did that too?” Draco interrupted. “Goyle and—and Crabbe and I did that all the time. Trying to get you lot expelled.”

                Potter laughed. “What was one of them?”

                Draco blushed. “They were stupid. We stopped before third year, so they weren’t great.”

                “One of ours involved Flutterby bushes and Hermione’s hairbrush.”

                Draco blinked. “How?”

                And somehow, that got them talking. They traded expulsion plans (the Flutterby bush one was horrible, but the one involving Peeves, Filch and the Fat Friar was pretty decent), and before Draco knew it he was laughing. So was Potter, some of the grief in his eyes fading away.

                Draco gave a start when he glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go,’ he said, standing. “I’m going to my parents’ for dinner.”

                Potter stood as well. “Sure. I’ll see you out.” The uneasiness came back as they went downstairs, and Draco found himself—absurdly—wishing that he hadn’t seen the time.

                “Draco,” Potter said as he stood on the doorstep.

                “Yes?”

                “Maybe in a world after a war…maybe things don’t have to make sense.”

                Draco thought about that for a moment. Their history would always be there, tangled up with the history of their families, their friends, their causes. But he was going to have tea with his parents, and Harry Potter stood in the House of Black with cheerful lights and colours. Maybe history wasn’t the only important thing.

                “I think you may be right, Harry,” he said slowly. “We’ll give it a try, how about that?”

                Harry smiled. “Sounds good. Goodnight, Draco.”

                And Draco Malfoy left 12 Grimmauld Place. It would be a couple of months before he returned, and there were arguments on both sides to be had before he visited regularly, first to bring Astoria to dinners, and later to bring Scorpius to play dates.

                (And much later on to be roped into wedding planning, but that’s another story).  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've read the Cursed Child and...no. Just no. None of that nonsense is canon for this verse. I got so mad I wrote this chapter and next week's oneshot, so there are some positives :)   
> Cheers,   
> Acme


	4. Close Call (2019)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a dangerous mission, Harry's left badly injured. Still, he can go back to work...but does he have to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is skipping ahead quite a bit, but I realized there were a few chapters that would spoil this one. 
> 
> "I am not a product of my circumstances. I am a product of my decisions".--Stephen Covey

Waking up was confusing.

            It took longer than usual—it was bright behind his eyelids the first time he heard someone say his name, darker when he could feel his body again, and darker still when he finally managed to open them.  

            Harry opened his eyes a crack. He didn’t have his glasses on, and the room was a blur, but it was a familiar blur, from years and years ago.

            He could hear now, a bit. There were other people in the room, but no one was talking. It sounded like one of them was crying.

            Could he talk? Harry tried to clear his throat. “H’lo?” he rasped.

            There were a few crashes and several running feet. A blur rushed at him, threw its arms around him in a hold that nearly strangled him. “Daddy, _Daddy_ …”

            It was James, but—it couldn’t be James, could it? Not his sixteen year old skyscraper of a son? Not shaking like this? What on Earth had happened?

            Two other blurs, shaped like Albus and Lily, hit him too. “Someone get Mummy!” Lily screamed. “Daddy, are you okay?”

            “I’m fine, Li-Lu,” Harry whispered, though he wasn’t quite sure he was.

            Someone put his glasses on for him, and he looked up at Hermione. She was ghost white, dark circles under her eyes. Harry looked around at his shaking, weeping children, and his heart sank. Something had clearly gone terribly wrong.

            “Mr. Potter!” It was Madam Pomfrey, striding across the Hospital Wing so quickly she nearly tripped. “Thank Heavens! Does Mrs. Potter—”

            “Ron’s gone to fetch her and the rest,” Hermione answered. She tried to tug at James, but James didn’t let go. “Jamie dear, your Dad’s got to sit up.”

            It took a moment, but Harry was raised into a seated position with Madam Pomfrey’s help. The minute he was, James pointed his wand at the bed. “Engorgio!”

The bed became huge, bigger than his and Ginny’s bed at home, and James immediately lay down next to him on one side, Albus and Lily on the other. They’d mostly stopped crying, but they were clinging to him desperately. Harry touched their faces. “What’s happened, kids?”

            “You were hurt,” James whispered. “It was bad.”

            The door to the Hospital Wing burst open, and Ginny rushed in. “Harry! Harry, love…” she choked on a sob.

            “Ginny…” Harry reached out to her and Ginny kissed him hard, nearly hurting him.

            “Are you okay?” she asked. Ron stood behind her, face blotchy and red.

            “I feel okay,” Harry said carefully, “but I don’t quite remember how I came to be here.”

            Ginny looked up at Madam Pomfrey, who was mixing potions on a tray. “That’s normal, Ginny. Your husband’s been in a coma for three days, some mild amnesia’s only to be expected.”

            Three days…

            Ron must have understood his horrified look. “You were on a mission, mate. With Sindle and Davy.”

            Trevor Sindle was a new recruit, Ian Davy had worked for Harry nearly eight years. “We were…” Harry screwed up his face. “We were looking for vampires, weren’t we?”    

            Ron’s face was grim. “You were, on Davy’s information. But there weren’t vampires there. It was a group of Death Eater wannabes. You know, those horrid kids who go around in cloaks on the anniversary?”

            Bile rose in Harry’s throat. He couldn’t stand them. Acting like the war was lost that day, not won, because Voldemort had made _sense_ …

            “Turns out they weren’t all kids. Some of them were Death Eater sympathizers from the last war. They were training these kids.”

            “And we just walked into that?”

            Ron shook his head.

            Harry’s stomach sank. “It was a trap, wasn’t it?”

            Ginny gently took his hand. “Darling, it was Davy. He turned and sold you out.”

            Harry shook his head. “No.”

            “He’s already confessed,” Hermione said.

            Harry closed his eyes.

            “This is too much for my patient,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Children, you need to let your father rest more.”

            “He’s been asleep three days!” Albus argued.

            “He’s been unconscious from curses, there’s a difference.” Madam Pomfrey handed Harry a goblet, steaming with Dreamless sleep potion. “Drink that.”

            “Can’t they stay?” Harry asked. “They’ve been through quite a lot. And maybe Ginny too?”

            Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Very well.”

            James rolled over and let Ginny slide in next to Harry, but he kept the same grip on Harry’s hand.

            Harry drank the potion and closed his eyes, letting his arm fall around Albus and Lily. He meant to ask where Hermione and Ron would be, how injured he had been, but the potion killed any questions before he could speak.

* * *

 

            The next morning he got more details.

            Davy had lured Harry and Sindle to a house not far from Hogsmeade where vampires were said to roam. In reality, it was a group of the New Death Eaters, and they were ready and waiting, along with their teachers.

            Davy had cursed Harry before they even got inside, but Harry had kept fighting, trying to subdue the black robed strangers without killing them. The older ones were experienced, however, and the young ones were merciless. Six of them hit Harry at once with the same purple flame Dolohov once used, and he went down. Sindle managed to signal for back up. Teddy Lupin had led that charge, and apparently had to be held back from killing Davy.

            Sindle was injured badly but was recovering well. Davy was under lock and key in an unknown location. Unknown, at least, to anyone who loved Harry Potter.

            Hermione considered this lucky for Davy.

            Teddy led the investigation in his place, and Harry’s heart ached. His brilliant godson had taken all of them down, and when the New Death Eaters were unmasked, one of them proved to be Alex McCall, Teddy’s first boyfriend.

            Teddy came in himself when Hermione was finished explaining. He didn’t look as tired as the rest, but that didn’t fool Harry. Teddy had figured out how to erase dark circles from his face the same year that he started having nightmares about zombies.

            _He’s too much like me_ , Harry thought. _Too keen to hide his pain._

            Teddy stood at attention, like he usually did when they were at work. It was a joke, a play on the fact that Harry was technically his boss, but Harry ignored it. He held out his arms, which still felt quite heavy. “Come here.”

            Teddy fell against him weeping, his hair turning black as Harry stroked it. “I thought you were gone, Bear,” he choked out. “Gone like—like—”   

            Because of course, Remus had been killed by the purple fire. Teddy had dug up the death reports, just as Harry had.

            “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m right here, and I’m going to be alright.”

            And it appeared he would be. Their entire family—even Draco Malfoy, who’d apparently spent a good bit of the three days soothing Albus—gathered that evening to hear that Harry would recover in time.

            “I want you here for another week, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey told him sternly. “But you should be back to normal within three weeks, provided you don’t push yourself.”

            “He won’t be,” Ginny said, looking at Harry pointedly.

            “Don’t worry about the NDE, Harry,” Teddy added. “They’ve been dealt with. The idiots actually had most of their information in that house. Sindle and I are going to track down the rest, but I think we’ve already sent a pretty solid message.”

            “I’ll see what else has to be done when I get back,” Harry replied. “I’m sure you’ll have it well in hand, but—”

            “Wait, you’re not going back, are you?” James was on his feet, staring in bewilderment.

            “Not to the house,” Harry said hurriedly. “I mean back to work, lad.”

            “But—but you can’t!”

            “I have to, Jamie,” Harry said as gently as he could. “There are people counting on me; I have responsibilities. You know I’ve been hurt before.” He had—a house collapsed years before, and when James was five, there had been a hostage situation that ended with a broken leg and a new scar on his left shoulder.

            “Not like this!” James threw his hands up. “You nearly _died_ , Dad! Why the hell would you keep doing this?!”

            “It’s my job,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice from rising. “I knew it was dangerous when I signed up, James.”

            “You weren’t a dad then! Or a husband!” James looked at Ginny. “Mum, you can’t let him do this!”

            “James, your Dad’s right. This is part of the job.”

            “You’re supposed to be a part of our _family,_ too! But I guess that part isn’t as important!”

            Harry flinched.

            “James!”

            James stared at him for one long, desperate minute, then turned and ran. Lily jumped up and ran after him.

            Harry closed his eyes tightly.

            “He didn’t mean it, love,” Ginny whispered, touching his face. “He didn’t.”

            “Oh, he did,” Harry managed, clenching his jaw. “Ginny…I think you’d better go. I think you all better go. I need to rest. I need to think.”

            “Are you sure, mate?” Ron asked.

            “Positive.” Harry turned his face away, squeezing his eyes tightly together. He felt Ginny brush a kiss on his forehead, then walk away with the rest.

            A hand touched his forehead. “Harry?” It was Madam Pomfrey. Had she ever called him Harry before?

            “I don’t want anything to help me sleep,” he said as firmly as he could manage. “I need to think first.”

            He heard her set down a tray. “It’s there if you need it later,” she said, then walked away.

            He was alone.

            His son’s words rang in his head. _You weren’t a dad then!_

And he hadn’t been. He’d been eighteen, young and nervous with Ron, desperate to finish the job they’d started. If they hunted down the last Death Eaters, drove back the creatures that Voldemort had summoned…maybe their lives would be safe.

            And even after Ron left to help bring George out of his agony, after Ginny said yes, after the last of the Dark creatures were under control…Harry had stayed. Oh, he took every chance to be at home with Ginny and later their children. Hell, he’d passed up promotion time and time again, because it meant longer hours, longer missions, and he had family to see.

            But then James had gone to school, then Albus, and now Lily. With each child in school, there were less demands on his time. He could take on more work. This last month, with Lily in school, the promotion had come up again, and he and Ginny had been talking about it.

            And he loved his job (other than paperwork of course). He loved the fight, the knowing that he was part of the solution every time he stepped out of the office. He always slept better after a mission, relieved that he hadn’t wasted his experience in the war.

            Wasted…

            Harry let his tears fall. Well, he used to love his job. Lately it was more pain than anything—frustration with politics, exhaustion from simple raids, longing to stay home some nights rather than go on yet another stakeout.

            Maybe he didn’t want to do this anymore. But he had to…

            Wait.

            Harry actually sat bolt upright. He _didn’t_ have to.

            He could stop.

Could he?

            Could he live with that?

            But that wasn’t the right question, Harry realized. The right question was _why did he think he had to stay at all?_

It had always seemed a natural progression. The boy who’d fought Voldemort so many times, who’d learned so much about the darkness of magic—what better than to be an Auror? He remembered thinking that at fourteen, desperate to get training, to learn everything he could. And even when Voldemort was defeated, that was all he could think of. What else did he have to offer, after all?

            Harry choked on a sob. How had he gotten used to thinking that over so many years? After all the grief, all the healing and working through pain and being in love and having a proper family and a house and children, his beautiful, wonderful children, and loving them and being loved by them and building this life…surely, he was worth more than just a fighter.

            He was worth something as a husband, as a friend, as a brother, as a son. As a dad and godfather and neighbour…and as himself. He was worth something to himself, Harry Potter.

            Harry hadn’t believed that at fifteen. No one had ever told him he could. His destiny was laid out whether he knew it or not, and the path he walked was a dark one.

            But there were no fences on that road, and there were others now, ones he’d looked longingly towards and never taken. He never thought he could take them, but they were there, right now, and all he had to do was take a step.

            For the first time in years, Harry cried himself to sleep.

* * *

 

            The next morning, Harry asked if Ginny and the kids could come back. James’ face was blotchy, and he started babbling an apology the moment he saw Harry.

            Harry held up a hand. “I’m leaving the Aurors.”

            “Really?” Ginny was clearly shocked, but there was something hopeful in her eyes. “Why?”

            Harry smiled. “Because I want to.”

            He didn’t really have the words to explain his revelation just then. He just held his family tight and promised that the moment he was well, they were going on vacation together for a whole month.

            And that’s precisely what he did.

            Harry’s resignation was on Kingsley Shacklebolt’s desk the next morning, and there was a letter in the _Daily Prophet._ Ginny had coached him through writing for a newspaper, and made sure it was on the front page.

            _To Who It Might Concern,_

_I have decided to leave the Aurors. This is not because of my injuries; I will heal, and be well, as has happened before thanks to the brilliant Healers we have. But this will be my last fight._

_I have been fighting since I was eleven years old, fighting battles I always thought might end the war. But they never did; there was always another fight. I thought it was my responsibility to keep fighting, and I have lost my perspective on when I am allowed to say that it is someone else’s turn to take up the battle._

_The truth is, somewhere along the way I got the idea that my life only meant something when it was on the line for someone else. Even now, with the wonderful family I have, I still have trouble believing that any idle moment is not a waste, a betrayal of who I am meant to be: a soldier in the cause._

_No one should be a soldier forever._

_I retire now knowing that the Auror department is in good hands. I have always wanted to help people, and that will not change, but for now I need to help myself believe that I am more than a soldier. I am going to take a break and work on that. I have faith that I will find that answer. I have a very smart family._

_Harry James Potter_

_P.S. If you have any questions, please address them to me, Ginny Weasley Potter. Just be warned, I’m famous for my Bat-Bogey Hexes, especially when it comes to my family and stupid questions._

It didn’t take much persuasion to pull the kids out of school, and they spent the entire month of October at a Wizarding resort in the Bahamas. James got very burnt, Ginny got very tan, and Harry gained ten pounds. The rest of their extended family spent the last week with them, and Harry took as many pictures as he could. There was a brilliant one with Teddy and Lily dumping water on Draco Malfoy.

            Then the kids went back to school, and Harry and Ginny took another trip together, this time to New Zealand. Ginny had fallen in love with the _Lord of the Rings_ films, and they flew over the country together, sleeping under the stars each night. The last few days they spent in a remote cottage. Harry would blush for years when reminded of that cabin, but Ginny would just grin, remarking that it was quite good that it was so remote.

            Then back to Grimmauld Place and preparing for Christmas. Harry did all the shopping that year, delighting in being at home every night and preparing for the return of their children. And they came home, and Harry didn’t receive any urgent owls, or even read the newspaper some mornings. Instead, he read with Jamie and played chess with Albus and helped Lily choose colours for outfits and convinced Teddy to take a break too.

            Harry had worried that his retirement would impact Teddy, but Teddy had reassured him. “I don’t feel about it the way you did,” he promised. “You did it because you thought you had to, Bear. I want to. And maybe I won’t stay forever either—but I was never planning to.”

            “No?”

            Teddy shook his head, hair turning black. “I thought about maybe working with Uncle George and Uncle Ron. Or maybe helping Victoire with her music.”

            Harry kissed the top of his head. “Good lad,” he whispered.

            When the kids went back to school, Harry had lots more time on his hands. But that was okay; he soon found new hobbies. He learned to knit after an arduous process (Hermione nearly stabbed him to death with her needles), started doing puzzles, and he and Ginny joined a Muggle bowling team. They got quite good.

            Harry knew he didn’t have to work; they had plenty of savings, the Ministry was paying him a great pension, and Ginny was still writing for the _Prophet._ But as the months went by, as fun as it was, he started to wonder if there was something else he could do. Work that he could choose, that would be meaningful.

            He found it in a letter from Neville.

            _By the way, Professor Tinworth’s stepping down; she’s getting tired of teaching. Suppose she broke the curse, so anyone could have the job._

Professor Amy Tinworth was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

            Harry closed his eyes and remembered the Room of Requirement. Remembered Dumbledore’s Army, teaching the others, helping everyone feel stronger, braver…

            He went to talk to Ginny.

            That September, Harry got on the train with his children, and waved to Ginny. “I’ll be home after the Feast, love!” he called.

            He wouldn’t live at Hogwarts; he would Floo home each night, especially on Sundays. They still had their bowling games. But he would teach, at least for this year, and see his children and his nieces and nephews. He would teach, and help the darkness not look so scary.

            Maybe some of his students would be soldiers, but most would just learn how to defend themselves if they ever needed it, have confidence that they could fight if they needed to. They wouldn’t be afraid.

            And when he stood in the classroom the next day, facing a bunch of first years, Lily beaming in the front row, in the classroom that held so many memories, Harry felt a surge of peace come over him.

            “Alright everyone. Please put away your books. You won’t need them just yet.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In writing this I realized that Harry is an Auror for 21 years when he retires in this story. Which is how long his parents were alive.  
> SYMBOLISM WITHOUT MEANING TO.  
> Hope everyone likes the change in career, I've always liked the idea of him being a professor. And don't worry, his kids get used to it (although they hate that detention with Dad means going home and helping Mum with laundry. No magic.)  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	5. The M Name (2004)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy has an announcement for his family. Things don't go quite the way he planned.

             Percy opened the door to the Burrow, letting a huge burst of noise and light fall over him and Audrey. Audrey giggled. “Your family’s so wonderful.”

            “You sure you’re alright?” Percy asked worriedly. “We don’t have to stay too long.”

            “Percy, I’m fine.” Audrey patted his hand. “Let’s go in!”

            Charlie had come for a visit—“no dragons this time Mum, I promise!”—and everyone was gathered at the Burrow. Percy was excited to see his brother, and with the news Audrey had given him that morning he was bubbling over with delight. Perhaps that was why he responded so enthusiastically to his mother’s hug. She seemed a bit surprised, but patted his cheek.

            “Come in, darlings. Everyone’s here, and Ginny’s brought Jamie!”

            Percy shared a secret look with Audrey as they went in together.

            All his brothers—it still hurt like hell that there were four instead of five—were there. Charlie was lounging on the sofa, Victoire in his lap. He was telling her stories, and she was beaming delightedly, blonde hair falling in her eyes. Bill and Fleur sat beside him, keeping an eye on their elder daughter while Bill kept Dominique from climbing over the chair. George and Ron were deep in conversation on one end of the room and their wives were doing the same on the other side, his dad included in the latter conversation.

            Percy couldn’t see his sister right away, but Audrey gasped with delight and pointed. Ginny was sitting in his mother’s rocking chair, Harry kneeling next to her. There was a tiny bundle in Ginny’s arms, and she was rocking slowly.

            Harry must have heard Audrey, because he looked up. He smiled. “Hello, Percy, Audey! Want to come see Jamie?”

            Audrey didn’t need to be told twice, and dashed to the chair. Percy followed a bit more slowly, not wanting to wake the baby. George’s kids were noisy when startled.

            James Sirius Potter, however, didn’t seem to be bothered by the clamor around him. Five months old, he was reaching up with little arms for Audrey, who was bending over him and cooing. He had more hair now, a few small red curls, and his blue eyes were brighter now.

            He’d gotten those eyes from his Uncle Ron…and from Percy.

            Harry and Ginny looked exhausted, but they were calm. Harry had his hand in Ginny’s, watching his son. He reached up and put his hand on Jamie’s back, patting gently.

            “How’s he sleeping now?” Audrey asked.

            “We’re not entirely sure that he does,” Ginny said honestly. “We’ve started sleeping in there with him and I’ve woken up a couple of times and he’s awake looking at the mobile[1] or chewing on his bear.”

            “Perhaps he’s simply engaged enough and not hungry,” Percy suggested. “Babies do that sometimes.”

            “How do you know that?” Ginny asked in surprise.   

            Percy willed himself not to blush. _Why do you know that Percy?_ “There’s been lots of babies around lately, and more on the way.” He indicated Fleur’s growing stomach. “I thought it might be useful to know something about how babies work.”

            Of course he knew some of this because of what Audrey had told him last week. But that had been a refresher from when he was eleven and bored and wanted to look up how to take care of a baby. He read in the darker corners of the Hogwarts library and never signed a single book out and learned that no one seemed to agree on how to do it.

            Audrey, of course, didn’t know that. She shot him a warning look, and Percy nodded. This was her surprise more than his.

            Thankfully supper was ready, and they squeezed into the still too-small kitchen.

            “We’ll have to renovate once all the babies start growing up,” Mum exclaimed as she pulled Victoire onto her lap. “George, why didn’t you bring your kids again?”

            “Freddie’s teething,” George said with a grimace, “and he’s got a fever. Angie and I are going to have to leave soon; Lee’s a saint but I don’t feel right leaving him more than an hour, especially with Roxy too. We’ll swing by in the morning, alright Charlie?”

            “Sure. I’m here for another few days. Hope the little tyke’s feeling better.”  

            “If you’re going to leave soon,” Audrey volunteered, “maybe we should tell our news now, Perce.”

            Percy swallowed hard as the conversation died down and his family’s eyes turned towards him. Even little James seemed interested.

            “Sure, love.”

            Audrey smiled, her lips trembling. “We’re going to have a baby!”

            The table erupted.

            “Oh, that’s wonderful!”

            “Congratulations!”

            “More bébés!” That was Victoire.

            “How far along are you?”

            That was practical Hermione, and Percy answered. “Audrey’s about six weeks along. We went to a Healer today.”

            “We should have known sooner, but Percy was sick with the flu and so we were both throwing up,” Audrey said. “It didn’t seem that odd.”

            “We’re very happy for you two,” Arthur said. “Is everything going well?”

            “Yes. I’m perfectly healthy, and they were actually able to tell what I’m having.” Audrey paused, her smile turning tender. “It’s a girl.”

            That prompted another round of cries of delight. Percy managed to relax as he saw his family being genuinely happy and supportive of him. Perhaps this evening would go okay.

            Afterwards he would blame himself for what happened next. He had been so overwhelmed by Audrey’s news—they’d danced around their small house for almost an hour—and he’d gone right to researching the best possible prenatal care for their little one, and they’d only decided that afternoon to tell the family…and he hadn’t thought about what Audrey might have thought about.

            “Any ideas for names?” Harry asked curiously.

            Audrey turned to Mum. “Actually, Molly, we want to name her after you.”

            Everyone went silent except Victoire, who was still chanting, “baby, baby, baby,” on her mother’s lap. Fleur gently shushed her.

            “Is something wrong?” Audrey asked. “Oh, Fleur, are you going to use that name?”

            “No, Audrey,” Mum said quickly. “No one else has chosen that name yet.”

            “But if anyone’s going to, it shouldn’t be Percy,” George snapped.

            “George!” Ron put a hand on George’s shoulder, but George shrugged it off.

            “You can’t tell me you’re okay with that!”

            “I don’t understand…” Audrey looked at Percy, but he couldn’t speak.

            “What, Percy hasn’t told you?” George was on his feet now. “About how he reacted when Voldemort came back?”

            Percy stood up. “Don’t speak to her like that.”

            “What?” George’s face was twisted in a sneer now. “Doesn’t your wife know you were a Ministry-loving _coward_ who abandoned his family and broke our parents’ hearts?”

            It would have been easier if George had hit him.

            “Yes,” Percy said quietly. “Yes, she does.”

            “The war’s over!” Audrey was glaring at George. “You said you forgave him, how dare you keep raking that up?!”

            “It did happen,” Charlie said. His voice was reluctant. “Percy did those things. And maybe…maybe if only one of us can name a daughter after Mum, it shouldn’t be him.”

            “You’re one to talk, you were in Romania most of the time!”

            “Audrey, enough.” Percy was trying to keep his composure, but it was cracking steadily. “This is a bad idea, we should just go.” He took her hand and pulled her gently towards the door.

            “Yeah, go ahead and walk out!” George snarled. “Just like you always do!”

            That did it.

            Percy dropped Audrey’s hand and whirled. “You know what? I did walk out. I did. And I shouldn’t have done it! But you know something? It was too easy.”

            “The hell does that mean?”

            “It means that I was always an outsider!” Percy exploded.

            George flinched.

            “Think about it! I was the only one who wasn’t interested in Quidditch, the only one who cared at all about politics, the only one who had a bad place in this family! Bill was the cool one, Charlie has his dragons, you and—and Fred had your jokes, Ron was the youngest and he outshone all us boys, and Ginny was the girl!. And what was I? I was Percy the Prig, pompous and political and no one’s favourite. All of you had each other, and I was the odd man out.”

            Percy drew in a deep breath, trying to keep himself from bursting into tears.

            “So yes, I decided to _be_ that. If that was my box, it was my box and I was going to make it a good one. So I drew away, and…and that made me make mistakes.”

            He looked desperately at his parents. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry for that, I never should have said what I said. I never should have made the problem about you. It was my fault. But I was so angry, and so sure I was right, because the government couldn’t be wrong, because if it was wrong then…well, what did I have left? Certainly not my family. None of you bothered to come after me.”

            He’d waited, the first three weeks, but other than Mum—dear Mum, the only one who never gave up on him, but also the one who’d encouraged him politically up until now, and he was so _confused_ —other than that everyone stayed away. The silence was worse than any Howler.

            “So I toed the party line, whatever the party was.” Percy looked at Harry. “I have no excuse for what I did to you. I should have stood up for you. I cared about you a lot; you were another brother. But if I was going to make a clean break, and that seemed to be ideal, I had to forget that.”

            Harry swallowed hard.

            “When the Ministry was taken over…” Percy swallowed, remembering those terrible days, long hours surrounded by Death Eaters, his family’s posters on the walls, interrogation sessions that left him bruised and bleeding. _Blood traitor! Blood traitor!_ And he was, he was, though not the way they meant it…

            “I tried to help,” he admitted. “I hid files, I destroyed evidence, I forged whatever documents I could. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough, and I’m still alive, even though I was in the Battle. I was in the Battle, and I watched my brother die.” Fred’s last laugh still rang in his ears late at night. He turned to George. “I know you wish it was me instead of him. Believe me, I wish it too! Why am I alive and the brother who never left, who everyone loved, isn’t?”

            Percy looked wildly around the room, hoping someone would give him an answer, dreading that someone would. His eyes fell first on Victoire, who had her thumb in her mouth—she hated when people shouted. Then on Dominique, who was clinging to her father. Then on James, awake and looking back at him with his own eyes.

            _They’re going to be so ashamed when they understand they have me as an uncle._

That thought broke him, and he sank down on his chair and sobbed, his face buried in his hands.

            Someone touched his shoulder, and he thought it was Audrey—it should be Audrey, she was the only one who might still love him after that litany of cowardice and selfishness. But when the same hand forced him to look up, it was George, and he was crying too.

            “I’m sorry, Perce,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

            “I—” Percy started.

            “No.” George shook him gently. “We’ve got no right to keep expecting you to apologize when we refuse to do the same. I never thought—I never realized you felt so alone. That we made you feel alone.”

            “I don’t belong in this family,” Percy said numbly.

            George wrapped his arms around him.  “You’re our brother,” he whispered. “Of course you belong.”

            Percy tried to break away from his embrace, but George wouldn’t let him.

Ron slid down next to them and put his hand on Percy’s shoulder. “You left,” he whispered, and Percy flinched, “but you came back, even when you thought there was no place for you. That’s brave, brother.”

Then Bill was there, and Charlie, and Ginny, and Percy couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore, could barely breathe as for the first time since he was little, he felt like he was home.

They would say it again.

George went home and brought back little Fred and Roxy and they all stayed late that night, talking properly as a family. They talked about the past, and they talked about the present, and they planned for a future where everyone was going to listen more and be a little kinder to each other. It wasn’t enough to say they were family. There was work to be done, but they were all willing to do it. Forgiveness came, the love that was always there grew stronger, and Percy became a little more tolerant, and a little more tolerable, as did they all.

            He was still pompous sometimes, still far more interested in politics than Quidditch, and he did continue to work in the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. But Percy was a Weasley once again, and the next time they had a reunion with Charlie, he and Audrey brought little Molly Grace Weasley to the party.

 

[1] The spinny kind for babbies, not the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the moment I saw that Percy named his daughter Molly, I wondered about this night. I hope I've answered that question in a satisfactory way.   
> By the way (this will come up later) Audrey Kelly (Weasley) in this verse is of Chinese descent. Her faceclaim is Jiang Wenli.   
> Cheers,   
> Acme


	6. The Sortings (2009 and beyond)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The various sortings of the Next Generation, and what happened next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to just point out that this chapter was supposed to be no more than 3000 words. I would also like to point out that it is 7000 words. I apparently have no chill.

Teddy Lupin (2009)

            Harry and Ginny invited Andromeda to breakfast with them the first morning. Lily was fussy with teething, but between James chattering about the book he was reading with Ginny and Albus’ incessant questions, Harry hoped the woman was distracted from missing Teddy. Her grandson. His godson.

            Harry had been so caught up in Teddy’s own excitement about going to Hogwarts that he hadn’t quite thought through what it would be like when he’d be away.   _He’s so young. What if he’s homesick? What if he hates it? What if he has no friends?_

Lily whined in his lap, and Harry cuddled her close. Thank goodness his other children were still years away from Hogwarts.

            A large barn owl swooped into the breakfast room and dropped two letters—one in Andromeda’s hand, one in Harry’s.

            “Moo!” Lily shouted. Harry couldn’t help smiling. Poor Teddy had been trying to be nice when he let Lily pick her name. Trouble was, he’d forgotten that Lily knew a limited amount of words at one, but a great deal of sounds.

            The owl let Lily pet him as Harry passed the letter to Ginny—his hands were a bit full. Ginny opened it eagerly, then beamed. “He loved the feast!”

            Andromeda nodded, her eyes solemn. “He says the Sorting Hat sang about friendship this year. He’s been sorted into Hufflepuff.”

            “Brilliant,” Harry said. “He’s always loved yellow.”    

            Andromeda peered at him. “You’re not…”

            “Not what?” Then it hit him. “Do you think I’d be disappointed?”

            “No, of course not. Perhaps surprised. It’s just in some ways he takes after his father more than Dora.”

            “I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was in Gryffindor,” Ginny said, “but I think he’ll fit in well in Hufflepuff. And anyways, that’s where his mum was, right?” She read on, and she drew in a sharp breath.

            “Ginny?”

            Ginny reached out for Lily, and Harry passed her over, taking the letter in exchange. He read it aloud, his voice getting tighter as he went on.

            _And you two won’t believe it, but one of the prefects, Gemma, she took me and a couple of others with Hufflepuff family over to the Hole. It’s a little hole in the floor, right near the fire, and everyone who graduates puts in a stone with their names scratched on them for any of their family who are Sorted here. She gave me Mummy’s. It’s all colourful. Gemma said she thought there might be jewels in it, or something precious, and my Mummy loved it. It’s for me now to keep. I think when I graduate I might put it back in with my name on it too. I’ll ask Gemma in the morning._

_Heaps of love,_

_Teddy the Badger_

_P.S. I miss you, but Hogwarts is brilliant, so don’t worry about me._

Victoire Weasley

            It took a long time to decide whether or not to send Victoire to Hogwarts at all.

            Fleur and Bill went back and forth. Beauxbatons was a wonderful school too, and Fleur’s family was there, and there were traditions there that were just as important. Fleur had loved school dearly, and actually cried the day she left for England, not just for her family but the lovely long halls and high windows of Beauxbatons.

            On the other hand, the idea of having Victoire so far away made her heart ache (and made her write her mother more often). Bill was willing to do either, but he pointed out that Victoire wasn’t quite fluent in French, and she adored her cousins, all of whom were going to Hogwarts. _That_ wasn’t even a point of discussion in the other Weasley homes.

            Eventually Victoire was asked her opinion. She thought about it quite seriously for three days, and then told them that she wanted to go to Hogwarts right now.

            “Can I change my mind when I’m older?” she asked. “When I’m ready to leave home?”

            Fleur hugged her daughter close. “ _Bien sur,”_ she promised.

            (It would later turn out that Victoire would never go very far from home. She wasn’t an adventurer like either of her parents. She stayed home, first with them and then with Teddy, writing music. She only ever sang for her children, but her songs travelled the globe).

            But Fleur didn’t know it that day. All she knew was that suddenly Hogwarts was too far away, and the train was dangerous, and perhaps they could teach her? But no, her daughter had a brilliant mind, and needed to be nurtured by people who weren’t family.

            And when Victoire came home for Christmas wearing Ravenclaw blue and bubbling over about how many things she wanted to learn, Fleur knew they’d made the right decision.

 

Dominique Weasley

            Dominique’s red hair had always run wild. Unlike her sister, who kept her blonde hair tucked into braids, Dominique let her hair fly free, just like Aunt Gabrielle’s. She was the first up in the morning, the last to sleep, and could never sit still long enough to read a book. Fearless and tough, she roamed each day looking for adventure.

            Dominque cried fiercely the night before she went to Hogwarts, begging to stay home. Bill promised her the same deal as Victoire—when she was thirteen, she could change her mind about school. He would teach her himself if she wanted, and take her on voyages. “My adventuring partner,” he always called her. He was sure she would find her home in Gryffindor.

            She found her home, but it wasn’t in the house of chivalry and nerve. Instead, it was in the house of creativity, of inquiring minds who thirsted for knowledge. And when Dominique opened the trunk her family had packed for her, she found a bronze eagle set with sapphires from Aunt Luna, who’d recognized the need for answers.

            Dominique—Nicki when she got older— would eventually join her dad on his expeditions, but only sometimes. She was searching for curses, and Dad was good at breaking them. Sometimes he was too slow, though, and she would barge on ahead, using spells she designed to bring them down, tame them, catalogue and comprehend them.

            There were people to help, after all—people who’d been hurt by these curses. And Nicki was going to find out how to help them, no matter what got in her way. 

 

Fred Weasley II

            After Bill’s daughters both being sorted into Ravenclaw, everyone started getting used to the idea that not all the Weasleys would be in Gryffindor. No one was upset, of course—it just felt a bit odd.

            So when George and Angelina broke the news that their son hadn’t been sorted into Gryffindor either, people were calm.

            They stopped being calm when they found out Freddie Weasley was in Slytherin.

            George nearly shouted himself hoarse arguing with Angelina that day. She was panicking, terribly worried that they’d done something wrong. Her family was Gryffindor through and through. The statistics for Death Eaters was overwhelmingly Slytherin. She loved her son—loved him deep and strong—but would he survive Slytherin? Would he be the same? And even if he belonged in Slytherin…what if the others, offspring of old pureblood families, didn’t agree?

            “Damn it, woman,” George finally raged, “Fred and I should probably have been in Slytherin!”

            And Angelina knew, in her heart of hearts, that he was right. They’d both grown up knowing red was their colour. Who knew? Perhaps if they’d had a chance to be different, to choose their own way, maybe she would have worn yellow, her husband green. Maybe their son was growing up in a world where he could choose that without worrying. Where he could be where he belonged, and never think that maybe their House was good and they loved their housemates, but it never quite felt like _home_.

            And that’s what she and George told everyone who looked shocked or worried, everyone who might have wondered what they thought. They thought that they loved their son, and he was perfectly fine as he was, thank you very much. And soon everyone calmed down.

            Freddie always looked well in green.

 

Roxanne Weasley

            Roxanne loved Quidditch. But she didn’t love it for the game itself. She played, of course, because she was damn good at it and she loved competing against her brother, but it was the minds behind it that were so interesting. What drove people to play? Why did some give up after being injured? What made certain games so exciting?

            It was a lot of numbers, a lot of sifting through stories. But Roxy was patient, and quiet, and knew how to listen. It was useful in a family like hers. All those redheads—but then again, was that true? Did people with red hair really have worse tempers?

            When the Sorting Hat called out Ravenclaw no one was more surprised than Roxy. It wasn’t just that it was Ravenclaw, but that it was so fast. She was sure she was going to be a Hatstall. She had no idea where she belonged.

            But the Hat somehow did. It understood that knowledge seekers aren’t always passionate about learning. Sometimes they’re patient and calm as they work away at an answer. They can stop work, do something else; the question doesn’t have to consume their life.

            And sometimes those knowledge seekers become passionate about the questions of others. They love helping people solve puzzles, they love watching people learn.

            Roxanne was one of those, and Madam Pince knew it. At last she could retire, knowing her beloved library was in good hands.

 

James Sirius Potter

            James Sirius Potter was the descendant of Marauders and nephew to the founders and owners of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He was the eldest Potter child, and he had red hair.

            Apparently this meant he had to be the biggest prankster running.

            There was only one problem with this theory, and it wasn’t that Albus was playing jokes on him at the age of three, or that Lily invented a product for the joke shop before she could talk properly.

            No, it was that he simply didn’t want to.

            Oh he retaliated when his siblings pulled pranks, and he and Albus had magnificent wars, but he never instigated. He just had other things to do. His book pile wasn’t getting any shorter, there was Quidditch to play with Mum and Dad, and he loved watching the stars.

             

            When James was sorted, it took a while. The Hat discussed his options with him—he would find some friends in Ravenclaw, but they were quite intense about it. James had never understood people with only one passion. He’d much prefer being in a group of people that let people be what they wanted.

            The Hat agreed that was best, and put him in Gryffindor.

            When James lay down that night, he did some counting and realized he was in his dad’s room, and quite possibly in his dad’s bed. That was nice—it made him feel closer to home. He hugged his pillow. He didn’t feel very brave.

            It would take him years to realize that being quiet in a noisy family, being funny at no one’s expense, loving the way he wanted to, and being steadfast and polite about it, was its own kind of bravery.

 

Louis Weasley

            When Louis was little, their favourite cousin was Fred, because Fred _understood_ that they were, well, _they._ Not a little boy, not a little girl, just _they._  

            It was Fred who gave Lou their first camera, and Fred who was their first model. Posed on the beach at high noon, dressed in clothes exactly the colour of his skin, he stood with his head thrown back and arms held high.

            (Years later, Lou would pose another man that way but pose them nude.)

            Going to school worried Lou, worried their parents. Mum and Dad had always been good about using the right words, about letting them wear what they wanted. But Hogwarts had rules, and Hogwarts had dorms by gender. There were already students who had crossed the dorms, girls born boys who could walk up the staircase, boys born girls who made it a slide. The dorms amended for that, but what would they do for someone who was neither?

            However, Lou had a plan. They didn’t want to make a big deal about what they were. It was bad enough that everyone knew they had inherited the Veela gene full force.

            You throw a tantrum in Diagon Alley and turn into a monster _one time…_

            So Lou forbade their parents from interfering, pretended to be always male around Professor McGonagall and Professor Longbottom, and packed their bags. They sat with their sisters and Fred in a compartment, twisting their hands and trying to pretend that people weren’t staring in.

            When they got to the Sorting Hat, Lou informed the hat that they didn’t give a toss where they were, but if the Hat told anyone that they were…well, a they, the Sorting Hat would become the Sorting Pincushion.

            “Slytherin!”

            When Lou got to the Slytherin dorm, there was a girl’s dorm and a boy’s dorm, but there was also a third room.

            “Oh,” the Prefect said when they asked. “It’s for people who aren’t comfortable in either. Haven’t all the Houses got one?”

            Lou shook their head.

            “Do you want to sleep in there?”

            Lou nodded.

            “Alright then. Go on.”

            So Lou met Kit, who was still transitioning into a male; Elys, whose Mer blood made human concepts of gender confusing; and Aly, who was mostly feminine but sometimes very, very male.

            By the time Lou graduated, each House had a room like that. Sometimes people only stayed a year, some stayed for their whole career, but it was always by choice, and anyone was welcome.

            And Lou stopped minding if people stared. They got used to the idea that they were beautiful. And despite a couple more Veela episodes, people kept flirting.

            And Lou let them, because flirting was fine, and they learned to be careful about keeping it from crossing the line into love, which they had no interest in (it took an unfortunate episode with Kit for that lesson to come across). And when they grew up and became a photographer everyone knew that you wanted Lou Delacour to take your picture and sleep with you, because it would be the best picture and fuck of your life. But crossing them was a bad idea—they could throw fire, after all.

            Sometimes being a Veela was good for business.

            Fred was very proud.

 

Molly Weasley II

             Molly was afraid of spiders. Molly was also afraid of the dark, and alligators, and sharks, and lots of other things, but spiders topped the list. She couldn’t listen to Hagrid’s stories about Aragog at all. Uncle George teased her about it, but Uncle Ron always made him stop. He was scared too.

            When she was eight, Molly tried to make a list of her fears. She gave up when she filled two rolls of parchment. Clearly, being afraid of so many things was impractical. But how was she going to conquer so many fears?

            She started with the simple ones. She went outside at night without a flashlight six nights in a row, trembling and scared in the backyard. Her dad stayed near the door, ready to come and get her right away if she called, but by the last night she actually fell asleep under a moonless, nearly starless sky.

            Then she tried to conquer claustrophobia. This one served to terrify her mother; she kept finding Molly in cupboards. She suggested that Molly try going under a bed, at least when Uncle Harry was visiting. It took much longer, but soon she found it was actually kind of cozy under her bed, and she often went under there to read.

            Three years goes by quickly when you’re trying to fit in phobia-fighting along with being a kid, and soon Molly was packing her trunk for Hogwarts.

            “I’m not ready,” she sobbed.

            “You will be,” Dad promised. “Work on your list when you have a chance, but give yourself some credit. You’ll be okay.”

            Molly barely made it on the train, even clutching Victoire’s hand. Victoire and Nicki were very kind and let her sit with them, but Molly couldn’t concentrate on any conversation. She stared out the window miserably. She didn’t deserve any house. She was cowardly, stupid, couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, and clearly she wasn’t working hard enough to solve these idiotic fears. She was going to be sent home.

            The Hat thought for a long time when Molly put it on, and she shrank into herself.

“Tell me, Molly Grace,” the Hat whispered to her finally, “why do you insist on believing you are worthless?”

            “I can’t stop being scared,” she thought.

            “Have you tried letting yourself be scared?” the Hat asked.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Embrace your fear. Don’t just face it, understand it. Breathe in the world that holds your fears, and love it anyways.”

            “Will that help me stop being a coward?”

            “You were never a coward, Molly Grace. And you will never be.” The Hat cleared its throat, and then, loud enough that the entire Hall could hear, yelled “Gryffindor!”

            Five years later, when Molly was a Prefect, she gave tiny, scared first years the same speech. They were stunned. How could Molly Grace Weasley, famous for her Quidditch stunts and cool head when exploring the Forbidden Forest, ever have been frightened?

           

Albus Potter, Rose Granger-Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy

            Harry sank into a chair. The house was really quiet now. They’d spent the afternoon at the British Museum with Lily (a special treat for her), but it felt strange to have both their boys gone.

            Ginny perched next to him, and Harry took her hand. She’d been remarkably strong at the station and all afternoon, but now she looked very sad.         

            “He’ll be home for Christmas, love,” Harry whispered.

            “I know. It’s just,” Ginny sniffed, “my babies are all growing up.”

            Harry pulled her onto his lap. “It’ll be okay, Ginny. We still have Lily.”

            There was a crash from upstairs.

            Ginny groaned. “Maybe that’s not a comfort. Lily!”

            “I didn’t mean to!”

            Ginny went upstairs, and Harry stared into the fire.

            Then Ron’s head popped up. “Mate! How are you?”

            “Alright. How are you and ’Mione holding up?”

            Ron’s face fell. “It’s not easy. I feel sort of bad for wanting to go back to Hogwarts so badly when I was a kid. Must have broken Mum and Dad’s hearts.”         

            “Do you want to come over?”

            “Sure! Hugo’s over at Ricky’s tonight and his dad’s away so Hermione will be alright. Give us a few minutes, yeah?”

            “Sure.”

            Ron’s head vanished.

            Ginny came back. “Was that Ron?”

            “Yeah. He and Hermione want to come over. Sorry, I should have asked.”

            “Don’t be stupid. It’ll be nice to see them. Lily’s going out to see Teddy tonight, right?”

            Harry nodded. Lily and Teddy were working on a project together. He was fairly certain that it involved explosions, but completely certain that Teddy would take very good care of Lily.

            Lily came bouncing in. “Bye Daddy!” she kissed his cheek.

            “Is Teddy—”

            The doorbell rang.

            “I’ll get them going,” Ginny told him. “You get drinks set up for Ron and Hermione.”

            Harry got up and went to the drinks cupboard. He’d put sherry, Firewhiskey, white wine and a Butterbeer on a tray by the time Ron and Hermione stepped through.

            Hermione looked fairly calm, but Ron was clearly upset.

            “Did something happen?”  Harry asked. Nothing could have happened in ten minutes, could it?

            “Rose hasn’t called yet,” Hermione explained. “She said she would right after the Feast.”

            Harry checked his watch. “It’s barely eight!”

            “Which is precisely what I told Ronald,” Hermione said exasperatedly. “They’re likely still eating.”

            “I’m sure she’s okay, Ron,” Ginny said gently.

            “What if she didn’t get sorted into Gryffindor and she’s worried I’m angry?” Ron said, still fretting. “I was joking, honestly!”

            “She knows that,” Hermione said firmly. “She knows you love her. Don’t be thick.”

            Ron took the Firewhiskey and poured it into a glass. “I hope so,” he muttered.

            Harry clinked his Butterbeer against his glass. “They’ll be okay,” he promised. “It’s okay to miss them though.”

            Ron nodded and took a huge swallow. “Thought I was ready.”

            Hermione put an arm around his waist. “I don’t think any of us are.”

            A shower of sparks caught Harry’s eye. To his surprise, Draco’s head was in the fire.

            “Hello, Harry,” he said politely. His eyes widened when he saw Ron and Hermione. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

            “It’s alright, Draco,” Ron answered. He held up the Firewhiskey bottle. “Care to join us?”

            Draco looked grateful. “I would like to, yes. Astoria’s had an emergency with her mum.”

            “Is she alright?” Hermione asked.

            Draco rolled his eyes. “Emergencies with my mother-in-law are a dime a dozen. I believe this time it has to do with the sale of some paintings. Still, Tori wanted to go.”

            Harry went to the fire. “Come on through,” he said, reaching out a hand.

            Draco took hold of Harry’s hand and came through. He didn’t even wobble when he landed on the carpet. Harry wished he had that kind of style.

            They stood together for a few minutes, talking quietly. Harry kept drinking his Butterbeer to make sure that he wasn’t expected to speak much. He was missing his sons badly now, and he wished that Hogwarts wasn’t quite so far away. They could see James in a month in Hogsmeade, but that was only if James wanted them to come…

            “Dad?”

            Startled, Harry looked around.

            “Dad!”

            Harry reached into his pocket for the mirror. Albus’ beaming face was looking up.

            “Hi Dad!” he called.

            “Hello lad,” Harry said. Despite all the Butterbeer, he could still feel the lump in his throat. “How are you?”

            “I’m doing well. Are Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron there?”

            “Yes.” Harry waved the others over.

            “Good!”

             Rose’s face came in too. “Hi Mum, hi Dad!”

            “Hello Rosie!” Ron looked a little astonished. Harry knew how he felt. As good friends as Rose and Albus were, they’d honestly not expected them to be in the same house.

             Albus held up Mad-Eye, the ferret wrapped in a scarf and Rose held up a tie. They were striped blue and bronze.

           “We’re in Ravenclaw!” Rosie cheered. “Together, isn’t it grand?”       

           “That’s lovely, sweet,” Hermione said.

           “Well done, Al,” Ginny added.

           “I wanted to be here,” Albus said, sharing a look with Harry.

           “Then I’m glad you’re there, son,” Harry said firmly.

           “Our whole compartment got into Ravenclaw,” Albus said. “Me and Rosie and Ellie…and—” he broke off when he noticed Draco. “Draco?”

           “Hello, Albus.”

            To Harry’s shock, Albus pulled away. Then—“Scorp, c’mere! Your dad’s here!”

            Draco’s eyes went wide. Scorpius’ face came into view, wearing Ravenclaw pyjamas and looking a bit worried. “Hello, Da.”

            Draco put his hand over his mouth. “Hello, son. You’re in with your friends, then? That’s…that’s wonderful.”

            Scorpius’ face lit up, and he leaned his head against Rose’s shoulder. She patted his head. “Told you he wouldn’t be cross, Scorp.”

            “Rosie!”

           “It’s alright, Scorpius.” Draco cleared his throat. “I know you think my expectations for you are high, and I want you to do your best, but I want you to do that your way.”

            Scorpius touched the mirror, as if he was trying to reach through. “Love you, Da.”

           “And I love you. Your mother and I are so proud.” Draco stepped away for a minute. He wiped his eyes, and Ron put a supportive hand on his arm.

            Albus hugged Scorpius from the other side. “We should go to bed. We want to get up early and watch the sunrise from the top of the tower.”

           “Be careful,” Hermione admonished.

           “We _will_ , Mum, honestly!”

           “Hang on,” Ginny said with a frown. “Where are you?”

            Something in Rose’s face shifted. “The Ravenclaw tower.”

            Draco stepped back into view. “And Scorpius is wearing pyjamas…in the common room.”

            That was odd, now that Harry thought about it. Scorpius was rarely seen without being fully dressed. Even during sleepovers he was found wearing a dressing gown.

            Rose ducked her head. “That’s why we’re a bit late. We had to figure out how I could get into their room.”

           “Aren’t there rules about that?”

           “Maybe,” Rose said, tossing her head. “I didn’t ask.”

             Ron laughed. “That’s my girl.”

            “Try not to get into trouble in the first day,” Ginny said.

            “Wait a week,” Hermione said with a smirk.

            “Mum?!” Rose looked shocked, but Albus laughed.

            “We’ll let you go to bed,” Harry said. “Mind you share what James has, Albus.”

            “I will,” Albus said. “I got one from him at the Feast. We’re going to take turns with each one.”

            “What are you talking about?” Scorpius asked, interested.

            Albus looked quickly at Harry, and after a second’s hesitation, he nodded. “Go ahead and tell them, Al. Just use them well.”

            “Promise. Goodnight Mum and Dad! Say hi to Lily. I’ll write to her tomorrow.”

            “Goodnight sweetheart,” Ginny said.

            Rose and Scorpius called their goodnights too, and then the mirror went blank. For a second Harry was quiet. Albus in Ravenclaw. It really did make sense.

            Hermione touched his hand. “Harry, do you think—”

            He met her eyes, and remembered six years of insane plans, of nights in the Common Room and days in Hagrid’s hut, of friendship and fights and family.

            Then he looked at Draco, and Draco smiled thinly. “I do believe we’ve seen the founding of a new trio.”

            “So…are we saying no Howlers?” Ginny quipped.

            “Are you barking mad?” Ron asked. “Of course we’ll send Howlers. Some of the time.”

            Harry laughed. He was sure Ron wouldn’t send a single one.

            In the end, it was Astoria Malfoy who sent the first Howler near the end of first year when Scorpius dragged/led/was dragged (depending on the account) into the Restricted Section after hours.

            Madam Prince had no idea how they’d snuck into the library.

            The Marauder’s secrets were still safe.

             

Lucy Weasley

            Lucy worshipped her big sister.

            It was easy to do. Molly was kind and clever and she let Lucy join her on all her adventures. Molly said it was because she was scared, but Lucy didn’t believe that. How could Molly be scared of anything?

            Then Molly left for school, and Lucy was all alone. She didn’t really know what to do with herself. Her other cousins—the Potters and the Granger-Weasleys—liked playing with each other, and Lucy always felt a bit out of place with them.

            So Lucy decided she would find a new friend.

            She wandered around the little village where they lived until she found a boy her age. The boy’s name was Jacob. He was clever, far more clever than Lucy was, but he was just as lonely. No one wanted to play with him because he liked to read big books about computers and physics.

            He had to explain what they were to Lucy, and they read the books together. Lucy was fascinated. Grandad always said that Muggles were clever, but this was amazing! Could they really do all of these things? How did they know how the world worked so well?

            Jacob didn’t understand how Lucy had missed all of these things. Lucy told him she was homeschooled. She desperately wanted to tell him about magic, but it was too risky. Her parents would be cross, and she’d never get to go to Hogwarts with her sister…

            But it wasn’t _fair,_ Lucy realized. It wasn’t fair for Jacob to be sharing all of this with her. He was risking his parents being angry for wasting time on something other than school. He was risking the other kids in his class _never_ being friends with him because he was always with ‘that Weasley girl’.

            So one day when they were out in the woods, Lucy told Jacob about magic.

            And he believed her.

            Delighted, the two of them read through every magic book in her parent’s collection. Dad was glad that Lucy was taking such an interest in magical theory, and bought her new books when she asked. It took him a few months to realize that she was sharing them with the kid down the road with too-big glasses and fidgety hands.

            Lucy and Jacob were having a wonderful time. They looked through the books and argued about how they intersected and whether you could possibly start building machines that worked with magic—not just pulleys, but things like phones, computers…their minds whirled with possibility.

            Then Dad confronted Lucy about what she was doing.

            It was quite a big fight, and Lucy cried. So did Dad. He was terrified that his daughter was going to be in prison before she’d even gotten to school. It was Mum who finally calmed them both down.

            “It’s done already,” she said quietly. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do next.”

            Lucy felt sick. Was Mum going to Obliviate Jacob?

            But no, because Mum was a lawyer, and Mum knew what she was doing. She called in every favour she had and looked up Jacob’s heritage, hoping to find any crossing with a wizarding family. If there was even a chance, the boy wouldn’t count as a Muggle, and Lucy wouldn’t have to lose her friend.

            And there was. He was the great-grandson of a Squib.

            And that was when Lucy lost her temper.

            Not because she hated that Jacob didn’t get to be magic, but that Squibs had no legal standing. They weren’t wizards, but they didn’t get to have wands, and they couldn’t tell their children about magic. But they weren’t _Muggles_ either, so if they did find out, no harm done.

            When Lucy got to school, she spent most of her time in the library. People remarked that it was odd for a Gryffindor to spend so much time there (until Professor Longbottom set them straight about _Hermione Granger_ ), but Lucy was determined. She was going to find a way for Jacob and any other descendants of Squibs to find their place in magic. And for wizards to find their place in the Muggle world, because _Merlin,_ people just sort of got by knowing nothing about the outside world.

            (She got into several fights with the Muggle Studies teacher).

            When she graduated, she took off for a year with Jacob and his boyfriend, a Hufflepuff Muggleborn named Dev. The three of them studied like crazy and managed to get into the University of Manchester for physics and computer science. Lucy got into fights with teachers there, but she also found Squibs and descendants of magical families without any magic at all. She recruited them for her cause.

            It took years; it took _decades._ But by the time Lucy watched her sister’s children go to Hogwarts, they went with magical ‘computers’ and learned about maths and Muggle history, and even Squibs went to Hogwarts if they chose, learning how to use magic not with wands but with science.

            In the end, perhaps it was good that Lucy worshipped her sister. It gave her a chance to feel lonely, to feel like she didn’t belong. She was determined to never let anyone feel like that.

            And her strangest legacy? Lucy Weasley was the only student Argus Filch ever liked.

           

Lily Potter

            Lily loved cooking with her Daddy. From the time she was three, she stood on her own little stool and helped crack eggs, stir milk and (of course) taste everything. Daddy always asked if she was bored, or if she wanted a break, and never let her touch the oven without him watching carefully.

            He cried when she burned herself by accident when she was seven. Lily was so frightened by his tears she started crying too, and Mummy found them sitting by the oven, sobbing together with a pan of cold cookies on the floor.

            When he calmed down, Daddy explained why he didn’t want Lily to get hurt in the kitchen, or think of it as work. It was three years later when Lily met Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley, but she never forgot, and she kicked their shins before Daddy could stop her.

            Lily loved watching games with Mummy. It started when she was only a baby, and the noise she always associated with her mother was the roar of a crowd and the ‘whoosh!’ of brooms. Mummy brought her and her brothers to games when she could, and when she couldn’t they could watch them on the small sets[1], and listened intently as Mummy explained how things were playing out. She had two whole years when it was just her, Mum and Dad during the year, and Mummy brought her to almost every game. Lily became quite good at knowing when calls were good, and she cheered for both teams. Everyone was always surprised that the tiny, bubbly girl could shout as loud as Uncle Dean.

            Lily felt guilty when she realized that Mummy had stopped playing because she had kids, and she asked if she felt bad. Mummy admitted that she missed playing, but she liked her new job too, and she _loved_ being a Mum.

            “I can always go back to playing, darling. I’d never go back to not having you and your brothers.”

            Lily loved playing with shadows with her brothers. Sometimes they teased her (and she teased them right back, and her pranks were better than theirs), but mostly they were wonderful brothers. Whenever Mum and Dad were having an adult dinner she and Albus would go in James’ room, and James would use the tiny lights Dad gave them and make shadows on the wall. Sometimes James would build little puppets, and sometimes Albus would just use his hands, but all three of them would tell a story together. When they came back to Hogwarts for vacation, it was the first thing they did together.

            Lily loved her cousins, loved her godbrother and her uncles and aunts and grandparents. She loved the ones who were gone, too, and asked for as many stories as the living could bear. She gave her love freely, because it was wonderful to love someone, to spend time doing things together and defend them against anyone who didn’t think they were the best people in the world.

            Sometimes she felt like she had too much love to give, that no matter how many people were in her heart she wasn’t loving enough.

            When she went to Hogwarts, the Hat saw that.

            “You belong with the other loyal hearts,” it said. “The ones who love and work through the bad parts no matter what. HUFFLEPUFF!”

 

Hugo Granger-Weasley

            Hugo did not start drawing the moment he was born, but it was a near thing.

            Hermione had all his drawings saved. They were hung around the house until the walls were full, and then they went into por-lios, as Hugo called them until he was seven. He drew everything he ever saw: family, friends, sunsets, animals…everything.

            He wasn’t very quick at it, though. Thankfully, he had a photographic memory, which served him well over the years. He was patient, drawing each line delicately, erasing again and again until it was right before moving on. The deep attention to detail startled his viewers; they saw things in his work they’ would never have noticed themselves.

            Hugo bought all his own art supplies. His parents would have bought anything he needed or wanted, but Hugo insisted from the age of six that he could pay himself. So he got an allowance from tugging weeds in the garden with Daddy and helping Mummy organize the bookshelf a new way every month. Then he would look up the best possible supplies he could get for his money, and Mummy would Apparate with him to London after work and he would carefully pick out every last piece.

            Hugo got in trouble a few times at school for not turning in his work on time, but his teachers learned that it might be late but it was brilliant work, nearly as brilliant as his art. They gave him extra time to work, and he rewarded them with diligence, spending hours in the sunny Hufflepuff common room. His grades earned him his choice of careers, and he decided to make a choice that was new, and created his own profession.

            There’d never been an artistic consulting detective before, but Hugo’s carefully drawn crime scenes and suspect profiles helped many a family recover their lost property or to bring a murderer to justice. He still found time to draw for himself and for his husband, and one of his strangest eccentricities was that he still spent hours choosing the perfect supplies, the perfect lines.

            Lives were at stake, after all, and the more attention to detail he paid, the more good he could do.

 

Lorcan Scamander

            Lorcan was always the big brother.

            It took him a long time to understand that his brother was ‘supposed’ to be nearer the same size as him, even longer to understand that people thought that the difference was a bad thing. There seemed to be two theories; either something was wrong with Mum and Dad, or something was wrong with Lysander. Neither option was correct, as far as Lorcan could see.

            He learned to slow down for Lys, to help him up when he asked, to glare on just this side of politeness at “well-meaning” adults. He took care of Lys, because that’s what he was supposed to do. They did everything together. Lys chose the games, and Lor played along; Lys had grand ideas. He couldn’t imagine being apart from Lys.

            Which was why it broke Lorcan’s heart when he was sorted into Ravenclaw…and two minutes later Lysander was sorted into Hufflepuff.

            Lorcan wanted to protest, but Lysander tracked him down the next morning. “You don’t need to protect me anymore, Lor,” he promised. “We’re in different houses, and that’s okay. We’ll still hang out all the time, okay?”

            Lysander kept his promise, and the first few years the twins were nearly inseparable. They couldn’t, unfortunately, switch places (people would catch on), but they pretty well only slept in their houses. They even ate at each other’s tables.

            Eventually they started making friends outside each other, and suddenly there were days that they didn’t spend together. It was _okay,_ though, it was really okay. What wasn’t okay, Lorcan was starting to realize, was the fact that people didn’t understand that Lysander was fine and happy despite his size, and did not need help unless he asked for it.

            That realization led him down the path to being a Healer; an unusual kind, perhaps. Lorcan Scamander moved through homes for the elderly, hospitals for wizard orphans and places for people who had physical and mental disabilities. He let the patients lead their care, let them choose the games and the conversation, and listened as hard as he could. When people wanted cures, he looked for them. He and Nicky Weasley ended up working together for those who’d survived terrible curses: she provided a breakdown of the curse’s elements, he worked on the cure.

            His greatest reward came the day, two weeks before they died, when Alice and Frank Longbottom opened their eyes and recognized their son.

 

Lysander Scamander

            The moment he heard the Hat say “Ravenclaw!”, Lysander knew he was going to be a Hufflepuff.

            It was really all the same to him. There were no family expectations—Ravenclaw Mum, Uagadou Dad[2], Gryffindor godparents—and he knew that the House system was at least a little bit rubbish. There was no way that any one person belonged in only one place. Look at him. He enjoyed puzzles and learning, he worked hard (had to with his size) and now, as he approached the Hat, he realized he had a little bit of Slytherin in him.

            Lorcan had to have a chance to grow without him, and he needed to find his place without Lorcan. It was going to hurt; he loved his brother, and would have been happy to stay with him at home and have Mum and Dad teach them. But they were two different people, two hearts, two bodies, two futures. That was important.

            The Hat argued with him for a moment, but Lysander held firm. “I want to be somewhere other than Ravenclaw. I know I fit at least one other place.”

            “Very well,” the Hat sighed. “HUFFLEPUFF!”

            The first day of class, Lysander walked shyly into Charms. He’d never met someone his size before.

            Professor Flitwick was getting very old, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. He examined Lysander’s wand after he made a quill fly the very first day of class. “Very good for Charm work,” he mused. “I think your wand’s trying to tell you something.”

            At first Lysander resisted. He wanted to work with fantastic beasts, like Mum and Dad and Uncle Hagrid. But Charms was fun, and Professor Flitwick took him under his wing, letting him sign books out of the Restricted Section, talking to him about being a little person and even making him a teaching assistant in his sixth year, helping first years. He also told him about his former position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and as a dueler. “You can always change an open mind, lad,” he said.

            Lysander would study fantastic beasts, but not right away. First he would take a year and travel for fun, seeing beautiful wizarding places. The next year, when Professor Flitwick retired, Lysander took his place. A few people made jokes about the Charms department always being taught by ‘midgets’, and for the first time in several years Lysander let his brother punch some people for him.     

            He was busy. He had students to teach, and he wasn’t about to let his mentor down.

 

[1][1] Credit goes to annegirlblythe and her awesome headcanon blog (harryjamesheadcanons) for the idea of small Quidditch sets to mimic games going on in the world.

[2] Uagadou is the Wizarding school in Egypt, which serves all of Africa (see Pottermore for a few more details). I’ll expand on this in a later oneshot with Luna and Lysander, but Rolf’s mother is Egyptian, and he was raised there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! Bit of a glance ahead for some :) I would like you to know that I had to make a SPREADSHEET to keep all this sorted (haha). Please feel free to wave this chapter in my face in future if I make a continuity error (I really want to stick to this).  
> If you don't read my SPN stories, good news! I now have a tumblr (illuminating-dragons.tumblr.com) It's...a work in progress, but it exists!  
> If anyone's got questions, feel free to ask here or by messaging on tumblr!  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	7. The Chosen One's Choosing (2000)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry needs some advice. Clearly, the best place to go is to his two year old godson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ME1, here's the first half :)

            It had to be this week. Ginny was going away for a fortnight-long tournament on Saturday, and she would only be home for a few days before the interview with the _Daily Prophet._ Harry knew she would get the job—of course she would, she wrote beautifully—but she was going to be nervous all those days. She wouldn’t take any distractions.

            And he’d promised himself he would propose by the end of the month.

            Harry had already bought the ring two months ago, and he was proud of it. It was a gold ring with a flower made of diamond petals and a ruby centre. It sparkled just as bright as Ginny’s eyes, and he knew that she would like it.

            As for the rest, however…

            He had no idea.

            Harry didn’t want to ask Hermione. Or Ron, or any of Ginny’s brothers. He didn’t want to ask anyone, really. He _loved_ Ginny, loved her so much it made him feel happy just to think her name. Why couldn’t he bloody well come up with something that showed that?

            He came close to asking Andromeda when he went to pick up Teddy. But Andromeda was ill that day with a bad cold, and she waved them weakly out the door.

            Teddy was delighted that Bear was taking him to the park, and didn’t stop babbling all the way there. Harry didn’t mind listening to the two year old at all, but he had to tap his leg. “Teddy, lad, you need to stop changing your eyes.”

            Teddy pouted, but he stopped switching from blue to green. No one would notice, but they were at a Muggle playground. And Harry hated Memory charms.

            Teddy wanted to swing (of course he did), and Harry pushed him, trying to avoid pushing him too high. Andromeda always warned him about that, but Teddy always begged to go higher.

            “Please, Bear! High!”

            Well, he had said please…

            And like always, Teddy felt a bit sick afterwards. Harry cuddled him on his lap as they sat under a tree together, waiting for the nausea to pass.

            “Bear, play!”

            “Not yet, sweetheart. Your tummy isn’t ready.”

            Teddy pouted, but he put a hand on his stomach.

            Harry looked around the park. It was a beautiful spring day, and there were quite a few families out. One family was having a picnic. Teddy was staring at them.

            “What’s that?”

            “They’re having a picnic, Teddy. It’s when you eat outside.”

            “Where table?”

            “You eat on the ground.”

            “Bear have picnic?”

            “No, Teddy.” The Dursleys had gone for picnics, but they’d never brought Harry along. And sure, they’d eaten on the Hogwarts grounds sometimes, but it wasn’t a proper picnic.

            Maybe he should take Ginny on a picnic…

            “Teddy,” Harry asked slowly, “I have a question for you.”

            Teddy looked up.

            “Do you think Ginny would like a picnic?”

            Teddy giggled. “Fairy love picnic!”

            No one was quite sure where Teddy had heard of fairy godmothers, but Harry was glad that he had. “Because Bear wants to ask her to be married, Teddy. Do you think that would be a good way to ask her?”

            “Yes! She say yes to picnic, and yes to Bear!”

            Harry knew that Teddy was two and didn’t fully understand how logic worked (nor time), but he hoped the little boy was right about love. “Then that’s what I’ll do. Thank you, Teddy. Come on, let’s go on the slide.”

            Teddy bit his lip. “Bear slide too?”

            “Bear slide too,” Harry promised.

            Harry waited eagerly for Ginny to get home. He had a basket all packed and the ring was in his pocket.

            When she came in he whirled her into his arms and kissed her. “Hello, love!”

            Ginny laughed and kissed him back. “What’s going on?” She arched her eyebrows. “You haven’t broken something, have you?”

            “Nope.” Harry grinned. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” He’d finally asked Ron a question, and the answer had delighted him. “Come on, we’re going out for dinner.”

            “Where?”

            The basket was shrunk in his other pocket, so he didn’t wonder that Ginny looked confused. All part of the plan. “It’s a surprise. Come here.”

            Ginny stepped into his arms willingly, and Harry marvelled at how well she fit, her head resting on his shoulder and his arms comfortably around her waist. He wanted to tell her that, but his heart was too full.

            He spun, and they landed in a small clearing. They were in a wizarding park, with fantastic beasts and magical playgrounds. Teddy loved this place, but it was a long trip with a two year old, and Harry only made it with Andromeda.

            “Alright, Harry, why are we in Scamander’s Hollow?”

            Harry drew the basket out of his pocket. “Engorgio!”

            The picnic basket sprung up, and Harry took it by the handle. “I thought we’d have a picnic,” he said lightly. Like it wasn’t one of the most important meals of his life.

            Ginny’s face lit up. “Oh Harry, that’s wonderful! I’ve never done that!”

            “Really?” He knew that; Ron had confirmed it. “Well, that’s good. It’ll be our first time together.”

            Ginny helped him spread out the blanket, and Harry conjured a couple of jars of blue fire; it was a bit chilly. They unpacked the basket together: roast beef sandwiches, lemon tea, blueberry scones with butter spread on them already and a chocolate cake. They ate everything in the chilly March air curled up close between the jars, and for a moment Harry forgot his fear.

            “That was lovely,” Ginny sighed. “All my favourites. You know how to spoil a girl, Harry. I think we’re going to have to do this again.”

            “I always like doing new things with you,” Harry whispered. He took a deep breath. “It’s always an adventure, always fun, and I’d like—I’d like to keep doing this.”

            Ginny looked at him in surprise. Before Harry could lose his nerve, he slipped away from her and moved so he was on one knee. He pulled the ring out of his pocket.

            “Ginny, I love you for everything you are. You’ve given me hope, joy and love beyond anything I thought I could ever deserve. I promise to be with you for as long as you want me. Will you marry me?”

            The sun was setting, and it wasn’t easy to see Ginny’s face.

            “Gi—oof!”

            She’d thrown herself into his arms. “Yes, yes, yes!” She kissed him fiercely, and Harry held her tight, so dazed he could hardly kiss her properly. “Really?” he asked. “Really, you will!”

            She punched him lightly. “Don’t be a prat! Of course I’ll marry you!”

            Harry kissed her properly then, drawing her as close as he could. When he finally broke away to breathe, he held up the ring. “Can I put it on?”

            She held up her hand and Harry slipped it on. It caught the sunset’s rays and sparkled.

            “It’s beautiful,” Ginny whispered. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

            “I’m not perfect,” Harry corrected her. “You are.”

            Ginny laughed. “We sound like Bill and Fleur.”

            “Not a terrible thing.”

            “Oh gosh, not at all.”

            They sat in silence for a moment. Harry took her hand and kissed it.

            “This was a really good idea,” Ginny said finally. “How did you come up with it?”

            “I was at the park with Teddy, and I asked him.”

            Harry said it without thinking, but Ginny stared at him in shock.

            “What do you mean?”

            Too late, Harry realized what he’d said. “Well, we saw—saw some people having a picnic, and I realized I’d never had one before, and I asked Teddy if he thought it was a good idea, a good way to ask you—”

            Ginny started giggling uncontrollably. “You—you asked a _two year old_ how to propose?!”

            “I—I was brainstorming!”      

            Ginny threw herself at him again, knocking him onto his back as she covered his face with kisses. “I love you so much, you know that?” She leaned her forehead against his. “Love you so, so much. I was going to ask you too, but you were faster.”

            “You were?”

            “Yes. I’ve got a ring for you and everything. I was going to ask once—well, if I get the job at the _Prophet.”_

“You’ll get it,” Harry said automatically. “And even if you don’t, so what?”

            Ginny didn’t answer.

            “Love, you know that money’s not the important thing here, right?” Harry asked carefully. Even with her salary with the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny still felt uncomfortable combining their money.

            “I know, Harry. It’s not that. It’s…well, you’re Harry Potter.”

            “I noticed that.”

            Ginny didn’t even hit him. “When I was younger and had that silly crush on you—before I fell in love with you—I always imagined that I would be able to keep up with you. I wanted to be worthy of you. And I worry sometimes that people will look at me and wonder why you would marry someone like me.”

            Harry took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, pulling her close. “No one will ever ask that,” he whispered. “I will let everyone know that I am marrying you because you are my hero, Ginny Weasley. You’ve faced things just as dark as me and came out still shining and beautiful. You give me comfort when I need it without judgement or pressure. You’re strong, you’re amazing no matter what you do, and that has nothing whatsoever to do with me. I want to marry you because you make me want to be my best self too. So try for the job, and if you get it, that’s grand. But whether you get it or not, you deserve the world, Ginny. I’m honoured you want me to stand with you.”

            They didn’t talk much more that night. There wasn’t much else to say. Suffice it to say that they did make it home eventually, but they only left when the blue fire burned out.

            In the wedding that summer, there was no question. Teddy Lupin was the ringbearer, the wedding bands he’d liked best shining on a small cushion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next proposal will be up in the next couple of weeks :) Not sure when I'm doing the weddings in detail, or if anyone's interested. I have a feeling at least one person will be :)   
> Here's Ginny's ring: http://imgur.com/a/e7Bip  
> Here's Harry's ring: http://imgur.com/a/pRPAM  
> And here's their wedding bands, chosen by Teddy: http://imgur.com/a/qRstQ  
> I also have a question for those of you savvy with tumblr. I'd like to post my fics on there as well (taking care of the backlog first, then crossposting). Does anyone think this is a good idea/something they want? Also, if anyone has any tips on this, please tell me; I'm very new to this scene.   
> Cheers,   
> Acme


	8. Provincial Town (for ME1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two accidental proposals, and one that just might work.   
> Also, Beauty and the Beast came out in 1991, which just happens to be their first year at Hogwarts. :)

**When the Feeling Was Right But The Timing Was Wrong (1999)**

Ron asked Hermione to marry him the day after she graduated.

            He hadn’t planned to at all; he had no proposal, no ring, nothing. He was helping Hermione unpack in their new flat in London, close between Grimmauld Place and the Ministry. Hermione was scolding him for the state of the bathroom. To be fair, while everything was hygienic there was a terrible mess on the counters.

            “You know I’m messy!” Ron retorted. “You might want to get used to it before we get married.”

            Hermione dropped the box she was holding. “Married?”

            “Well—well yes.” Ron cursed himself. “I mean—if you want to. Someday. Not right now, obviously, we’re too young, and—”

            Hermione stopped him with a look. “Ron, do you want to get married?”

            Ron bit his lip. “Yeah, I do,” he said quietly. “I know we haven’t been together all that long, but when I think about the future, I think about marrying you.”

            Hermione smiled. It was a kind smile, but Ron was still worried. “I don’t want to pressure you, darling,” he said quickly. “And I want to make sure that you’re sure, and I don’t even know if I’m sure, and it’s too soon, but that’s how I feel.”

            Hermione kissed him. “Ron, love, I want to be with you too. And maybe get married. But I don’t think we should worry about that right now. We can just enjoy things, alright? We can enjoy _us_. I’m with you, I promise.”        

 

**When the Timing Was Right But The Feeling Was Wrong (2000)**

Their second anniversary was a disaster.

            It was bad timing, really. Neither of them wanted to celebrate on the same day as the Battle of Hogwarts, so they chose their first date ( _sitting in the Hog’s Head, drinking Butterbeer the day before the funerals began)_ instead. But it was still only three days later, and two years had done very little to heal the wounds.

            Hermione couldn’t remember how the fight started; it might have been her necklace (the one Ron bought her _did not_ match the dress she bought, and she wanted to wear that). Whatever the case, they missed their reservations because they were too busy screaming at each other.

            “I don’t feel like you appreciate me at all!” Ron yelled.

            “Of course I do!” Hermione screamed back. “I want to marry you, you idiot!”

            That finally stopped the shouting. Ron started crying instead.

            Three hours later, still in their fancy clothes, they sat in the kitchen passing a bottle of wine back and forth.

            “What do we do?” Ron said helplessly. “I love you.”

            “I love you too,” Hermione said. “Maybe we need to work at it more, though. Talk, maybe? About what’s bothering us, and what we feel?”

            “I thought we were talking.”

            “Maybe some of our talking isn’t working,” Hermione suggested. “Maybe we’re not talking the right way. We can try new ways.”

            Ron didn’t answer for a moment, but he put his arm around her, and Hermione relaxed.

            “You always have great ideas,” he said.

            “So do you.”

            Ron scoffed, but instead of pushing it off, he opened his mouth. “I don’t always think I have good ideas, actually.”

            “Why do you feel that way?” Hermione asked gently. “How can I help?”

            It was dawn before they went to bed, throats dry from talking and crying. And they held each other close, both feeling like a layer of the wall between them—the wall they’d been hammering at for years—was starting to be dismantled, carefully and lovingly.  

**When the Timing Was Right and So Was the Feeling (2001)**

            Ron took a deep breath and put his change into the phone.

            This phone booth wasn’t far from Diagon Alley, but it felt like it took an eternity to get there. He had to keep checking his pocket—did he have his change, did he still have the number, was he making a mistake?

            Well. He was here now.

            Ron dialled the number carefully. He was starting to worry that they weren’t at home, but someone picked up on the fifth ring.

            “Jacob Granger speaking.”

            “Hullo Jacob.” Ron spoke clearly and at a normal pace, just like Hermione had taught him. “It’s Ron.”

            “Hello Ron! I don’t think you’ve ever called us before!”

            “No, I haven’t. I’m not very good at the telephone.”

            “Well I’m not very good at Potions, so we’ll help each other along!” There was warmth in the man’s voice that made Ron feel a bit more at ease. “Can I help you now?”

            Ron took a deep breath. “Can I speak to you and Helena? I have a question for you.”

            “Absolutely. Helena! Ron’s on the phone.”

            The conversation took a few more coins, but by the end of it Ron had the best possible answer. Now it was time to pick Hermione up from work, and check his pockets once more.

            Perhaps a few times more.

            There were two things left that he couldn’t forget.

            Hermione hadn’t asked why they were going to Lindfield. Ron hadn’t wanted to tell her at all, but he was still wary of Side-Along Apparition, so he told her the village name but nothing else.

            Lindfield was a beautiful village; quiet with farmland all about. Ron was nervous now. Maybe he’d chosen wrong. Maybe it was too quiet here.

            He took a deep breath. He needed to stop overthinking everything.

            He led Hermione up to a house, a brick one with a light brown roof. It had another part next to it, but Ron led Hermione to the front door.

            “Who lives here, Ron?”

            Ron took the key—hadn’t lost it, hurrah!—out of his pocket. “I’ll tell you in a minute.”

            The door (thankfully) opened into a hall, so Hermione couldn’t see that there was no furniture in the main room—nor, indeed, any furniture at all in the house. Except, of course, in one very important room.

            “Come upstairs,” Ron coaxed. He wanted Hermione to be properly surprised, before she figured it out.

            Up the stairs they went, then down a hallway to a closed door.

            “Ron…” Hermione said slowly. “Is this…”

            “Open the door first, darling.”

            Hermione went in.

            Ron let her walk in slowly, taking in the room.

            Bill had helped him build the shelves, but the design of the room was his idea—the magic books sorted by subject then by size, the way she did it at home, the Muggle books by author. He’d picked out the comfy loveseat, and spent hours fussing about the proper lighting to make the little library ideal for reading no matter the weather. The final touch—one he was proud of—laid on the loveseat: a pair of soft gloves with the fingers cut off. Hermione’s hands got cold when she read.

            Hermione had her hands over her mouth. “Ron…”

            “I brought the books here from home this morning,” Ron confessed. “There’s some new ones too: your dad’s been helping me pick new Muggle ones. I’d like to borrow a few when you’re finished.” He cleared his throat. “The house is ours if we want it. There’s a pool in the other building, and room for a workshop for me. It’s not far from London, so the Apparition won’t be totally awful.” Apparition took its toll as the years went on.

            Hermione’s eyes were shining with tears. “You made this for me?”

            Ron nodded. “And there’s three bedrooms, so one for you and me and two for…two for kids, if we want them.” He stayed upright, and took a ring from his pocket. “I know you don’t want a fancy proposal, and we’ve talked about it before…so will you marry me?”

            “On one condition.”

            “Anything, darling.”

            Hermione pulled a box from her purse with trembling fingers. “Marry me too?”

             Ron crossed the room and pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply. “I think you can talk me into that,” he laughed when he pulled away.

            She glared at him. “You’re horrid.”

            “You’re beautiful,” he answered, and kissed her again.

            When they’d calmed down sufficiently, Ron carefully placed the ring on Hermione’s hand as she did the same for him.

            “We’re engaged,” Hermione whispered. “We did it.”

            “Yes we did,” Ron agreed. It had been worth it, every minute of uncertainty and vulnerability. Then he narrowed his eyes. “You sure you’re not marrying me for the library, right?”

            That earned him another glare. That one he definitely deserved.

            He was sure he would get another one at their wedding a year later when her dad stood up to tell the story of his son-in-law checking with him to confirm that Hermione’s favourite Disney film was indeed _Beauty and the Beast_ on the same day he asked permission to propose to Hermione, but instead he got a beaming smile from his bride. She even laughed when their first dance song began with “Tale as old as time…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious, I actually did look up a reference for the house in Lindfield. It's been sold since, so I'm a bit leery of giving the address, but it looks awesome and if I had a spare 2 million dollars (like Ron does after working with George for a few years), I would absolutely buy it. Especially since it's less than 30 minutes walk from both a bookstore and a library (what do you take me for, of course I checked that).   
> If anyone has other requests, I'm happy to take them; it may take a little while, but I will write pretty much anything other than porn (it does not work for me...yet. I'm practicing).   
> Cheers,   
> Acme   
> PS: Also I couldn't resist the Beauty and the Beast references IN ANY WAY, including the colour scheme of the rings. Fiiiiite me.   
> Hermione's ring: http://imgur.com/qPxWcoc  
> Ron's ring: http://imgur.com/UvpMo5e  
> Wedding bands: http://imgur.com/DRnB1AI


	9. Career Choices (1998-onward)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've gotten a glimpse at the futures of the first generation. But what else did they do in their careers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody freak out, I'm posting this on Tuesday because this chapter and the next one sort of need to be read together in the case of one particular character (it's Draco, let's be real). I'll post chapter 2 tomorrow as usual. :)   
> Also, the story line about Lily Evans Potter is pure headcanon, but I....want it. And this is my alternate universe, so there. I also think that there's some canon basis for it, but I won't insist.

Harry Potter

            The first year Harry taught Defense Against the Dark Arts passed in a bit of a whirl. His predecessor had left a suggested outline, and Harry had followed it as best he could. He went off-script a few times, especially with the older students, and by the end of the year was winging it class by class. It was exhausting, and he wanted to create a better plan.

            At first he thought it might be arrogant, but he eventually decided that he would create a 7-year syllabus, and have each year dedicated to an area of Defense. The idea would be that everyone would get to experience each kind, and until he caught up with new students, he would do some quick coverage. For example, James was now going into 6th year; he and his classmates wouldn’t hear 1st—5th year curriculum from him, so he’d go through some of it and see how it went.

            It actually worked quite well.

_The Plan_

1st year: Basic defense training, with and without a wand. Small charms of protection, working as a team, recognizing threats, first aid, Dark objects.

            “ _I know you just got your wands,” Harry explained as he put the bunch away. “But your wand can be taken from you, and it’s important to learn how to protect yourself in every way. Now make a fist. My cousin taught me how to do this.”_

2nd year: Defense history and some theory. Psychology, explanation of old wizarding systems of belief (Draco Malfoy guest speaker).

            _“In order to understand Dark wizards, we need to talk about how they came to be that way.”_

_“Professor, aren’t we going to do anything practical this year?”_

_“Of course we are. What do you think the dummies are for? We’re continuing what we learned last year. There’ll also be some duel re-creations, if you’re all very good. Professor Longbottom’s going to help out.”_

3rd year: Creature Encounters. Dark creatures defense (explanation of Patronus Charm), learning about creatures that aren’t necessarily dark but require some defense if things go wrong, learning about old stereotypes (in conjunction with some classes with Hagrid).

            _“There are a few different kinds of dangerous creatures,” Harry explained. “First we’re going to cover the ones which are genuinely out to get you, and learn how to fight them. Then we’re going to talk about ones that you need to be careful with; they have their rules, you need to follow them. Then we’re going to talk about the teacher who inspired these lessons, and what Remus Lupin taught everyone about preconceptions.”_

4th year: Offensive maneuvers. Jinxes and counter-jinxes, battle strategies, negotiation techniques.

            _“Before we get to the fun stuff,” Harry said, and his face became more serious, “there’s something I want you all to understand. In the future, you might take up a cause that you believe in with all your heart. Whatever it might be, there may be a moment where you have to make a choice—your cause or your life. If you choose to die for your cause, then that is your choice. But I want each and every one of you to understand that your life is worth something. You getting out alive is a worthwhile option. There is no shame in choosing to fight another day, and I want you all to make it home. Do you understand me?”_

            _They didn’t, of course. But that was alright. He’d said it, and he would keep saying it as long as he had breath in his body._

5th year: Advanced 1-4.

            _“Don’t worry about your OWLs,” Harry promised as he looked at the exhausted fifth-years. “You’re going to be ready, each and every one of you. Whether you continue or not, you’ll be prepared. My door’s open if you need to vent, and I’ll leave some dummies after-hours. If you want to come in and blow things up, go ahead. Just clean up after, yeah?”_

6th year: Silent magic, magical law and law enforcement (Auror guest speakers), curse-breaking (Bill guest speaker).

            _“Professor, do you miss being an Auror?”_

_“Not really,” Harry answered, smiling. “It was worthwhile, and I did have some fun. But I love this job. Especially the part where I get to assign the homework instead of having to do it.”_

7th year: Career preparation, duelling (supervised), teaching others (Wizards and Muggles)

            _Harry waved the desks against the walls. “Everyone make a circle with your chairs, okay?”_

_After about five minutes where his seventh years proved that they still couldn’t make a proper circle, Harry accepted an oval. He brought his own chair in and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Alright, let’s go around. What do you want to be, and what kind of defensive techniques will help you most? I’ll make a list and we’ll go through it all by the end of the year.”_

            Harry really didn’t stop being nervous until the first group of first-years graduated, going through each year of his schedule, all of them doing extremely well.

He continued with his syllabus, and kept to three rules he didn’t publicize.

  1. His door was always open. When he was at home with Ginny he could answer owls, but he kept reasonable office hours through the week.
  2. He kept the classes as fun as he could. It gave the OWL and NEWT students a break from their other classes, and anyways, they were safe. Why not have a bit of fun?
  3. He would never give homework over break. EVER.  



 

* * *

 

 

Hermione Granger-Weasley

            Hermione went into the Ministry because Kingsley promised her two things. The first was that the werewolf registry was off the books immediately, and new laws would be considered first priority. The second was that she could have a small library instead of a traditional office.

            She was happy for years. She worked to bring S.P.E.W to the major leagues, got promoted a few times, had a chance to be off with Ron for a year with each of their children, and made some real strides in the legal Wizarding world.

            Hermione was happy.

            And then Harry quit.

            Ron leaving the Aurors hadn’t bothered her the same way. She’d known her Ron wasn’t set right for the Aurors. He’d followed Harry, but his heart was never in it. He was far happier working in the joke shop with George and Seamus, spending afternoons with Hugo and making people laugh.

            But Harry…Hermione fully supported his decision, but it did seem a bit odd. After all, wasn’t Harry happy fighting?

            No, Hermione realized. He wasn’t. He wanted to help people be safe, but he’d realized that his way to that wasn’t through being an Auror, but being a teacher.

            Now Hermione paced in her library/office and wondered. Was this her best way to help people learn? She didn’t want to teach; she knew she wouldn’t be good at it. In this job, she could make sure everyone understood the law, and that it was as fair as she and her team could make it.

            It was good work. But was it her work?

            In the end, it was Harry who helped her make a decision, though he hadn’t quite meant to.

            They’d gone on their annual Christmas Eve pilgrimage to Godric’s Hollow. It was the first one since Harry had started teaching, and Hermione had missed their lunches in the Ministry café. They laid roses on Harry’s parents’ graves, Remus and Tonk’s graves, and the memorial Harry had set up for Sirius. It was clear and cold that night, and they walked in silence through the village, stopping in front of the burnt remains of the Potter’s home.

            Then Harry jumped the fence. He’d done it so quickly Hermione took a second to notice.

            “Harry! What are you doing?”

            “James asked me this morning if I’ve ever been inside,” Harry called over his shoulder. “I promised him I would try. Are you…will you come in, ’Mione?”

            Hermione levitated herself over the fence, half-expecting to be blown out. She landed next to Harry and took his hand. “Of course.”

            The cottage was nearly destroyed, and Hermione forbade Harry from going upstairs; his levitation charms weren’t very good, and the curse remnants were stronger up there. They picked their way through the remains of a sitting room, a kitchen and—

            “Harry,” Hermione breathed.

            The Potters had built a small library.

            It would have been very small, just big enough for two people to read in on a sofa. Harry ran trembling fingers over the shelves.

            There were still books on the shelves. Some of them were burnt almost to a crisp, but some…some could be salvaged.

            Harry looked at her desperately. “Can you—”

            Hermione had spent part of her seventh year working with Madam Pince in the library, helping her restore old books damaged in the Battle and in raided homes.

            “I can try. You can help me.”

            It took six months, but working together on weekends Hermione and Harry slowly restored the books that were left. There were some Quidditch memoirs, a few Charms books, some Muggle and Wizarding novels…

            And two books that changed Hermione’s life forever.

            The first was a diary that proclaimed itself to be Lily Evans Potter’s, detailing everything from her fourth year until the day before she died. Hermione sent Harry off to read it, and started working on the next book.

            It was a Potions textbook— _Advanced Potions Making TK,_ in fact. When Hermione opened it, she was shocked to see that Lily Evans had written in it, making neat notes in the margins. As she started to read them, her eyes grew wider and wider.

            She ran to interrupt Harry. “I know you want to read that,” she told her friend, “but you’ve got to answer something for me first.”

            It took five seconds for Harry to confirm her suspicions.

            “Those were notes in Snape’s textbook,” he whispered. “The Half-Blood Prince one.”

            “I thought so. I remember you making some of these changes.” Hermione peered closer. “There are no spells in here, only notes on Potions. Are you sure?”

            “I don’t have a memory like yours,” Harry said slowly. “But I’m positive that some of these are identical. And that’s—that’s definitely my Mum’s handwriting.”

            The two would never know the full story, but after speaking with Slughorn and Hestia Jones, one of the few surviving classmates of Lily Evans, and looking through Lily’s diary, Hermione and Harry managed to piece the story together. Lily had spoken of the improvements she wanted to make to Potions textbooks; she’d even shown Slughorn some of the work. Snape, on the other hand, had kept fairly quiet except in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

            “I think it was Mum who came up with most of the Potions notes,” Harry said. “The spells are more like Snape anyways. They were best mates; they probably just shared their notes.”

            Hermione agreed with him, though in the end it didn’t really matter. Both were dead, and it without the Half-Blood Prince text (burned in the Room of Requirement) there was no way to prove anything. In any case, it was no longer a case of intellectual property.

            Harry was just happy to have more of his mother’s words, but Hermione was intrigued by another possibility. She’d ignored Harry using the notes in sixth year because she’d been so sure the textbook writers were correct, but these were good notes. And there were other potions Lily hadn’t touched, ones Hermione knew could be improved if she worked at it…

             It started as a side project. She just wanted to see if she could expand on Lily Potter’s work. She’d felt a kinship with her, her best friend’s mother, a Muggleborn like her who came to magic with a different point of view, a different understanding of the world. As Hermione started experimenting further (with Luna helping her set up wards in case something went wrong), she realized that Lily had been truly brilliant, and her work deserved to be shared.

            And as she slowly stopped looking at the textbook, started thinking in terms of _why_ and _how_ things worked, Hermione found new methods, new techniques to apply to potions. Her notes stacked up, and she _called in sick to work_ in order to finish pulling them into a book.

            Well. That was it. It was done. Maybe she’d publish it, and perhaps look into other potions. But that would take time away from work…

            Hermione knew where her responsibility lay. She quit her job.

            She spent mornings with her children that summer, and when Ron took them in the afternoon she went deeper into the Potions field. And she didn’t stop there; thinking back now, the textbooks weren’t really that great, were they? They told a victor’s account and glossed over huge sections of magical theory.

            But then she stopped short. Because who was she to challenge these mainstays of education, to even say that there were other stories to tell and lessons to learn?

            She explained this to Ron, who didn’t hesitate with his response.

            “If bloody Lockhart can write them, you damn well can.”

            Hermione loved her husband.

            She spent the next year working on her three main oeuvres: the Potions textbook, now split in two for first- to fifth-years, and for NEWT students; a History of Magic textbook that covered both Wizarding Wars with detail and as many interviews with survivors as she could; and her biggest worry, _Transfiguration Theory._

To Hermione’s shock, it appeared that people wanted to read her books, and they were heralded as wonderful, original work. Hermione was careful to tell the story of Lily Evans in her Potions book (and Snape, of course), but her own work stood out too, and stood up to criticism. Ron beamed with pride when Rose and Hugo wrote that Professor MacMillan had spend an entire day raving about _Transfiguration Theory_ and how splendid it was and everyone needed to buy a copy _immediately._

Hermione kept on writing textbooks in various fields (she co-wrote one with Harry about Defense Against the Dark Arts), and soon her books were required reading not only at Hogwarts but across wizarding schools. She cried the day the wizard who’d written _Hogwarts: A History_ wrote her and asked if she would collaborate on a new edition.

            That letter hung under her most treasured possession; a small photograph, burnt round the edges, of a woman with red hair and laughing green eyes with her diploma held high. Harry had given it to her from his album, the only one where Lily appeared alone. Sometimes Hermione could swear Lily was smiling at her and only her, but of course that wasn’t how pictures worked.

            It was years and years later when she was doing a collaboration with Dennis Creevey, when she realized there was a chance that it was in fact exactly how pictures worked.

            And Hermione smiled and waved back.

 

* * *

 

 

Ron Granger-Weasley

            Ron was an Auror because he didn’t know what else to do.

            He’d let Harry down last year, and he felt the only way he could assuage his guilt about that was to watch his friend’s back. So he was an Auror, and stood beside Harry in every fight.

            But it wasn’t right.

            Ron hated the bureaucracy, hated the infighting (they were on _the same damn team,_ who cared how the desks were organized?), and the constant exposure to the terrible things people did to each other was wearing him down.

            Harry could deal with it, somehow. Oh he cried with Ron for the victims, and they both had nightmares, but Harry could sleep and smile. Ron was losing his ability to do either.

            As it turned out, so was his brother.

            Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was still doing brilliantly, but there hadn’t been much new in the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. When Victoire was born, Ron was shocked to realize that he hadn’t seen his brother in two months, and George looked terrible. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hands were trembling as he held the baby.

            The next day Ron called in sick and went to see his brother.

            When they were younger he’d looked up to the twins as superhuman. They never minded getting shouted at by Mum, never minded getting in trouble; they did what they wanted. Of course they were irritating and Ron never enjoyed being the butt of their pranks, but his brothers were amazing, and he’d always been in awe of them.

            Now, when he was let into George’s flat, he was terrified.

            “I’m trying, Ron,” George whispered through his tears. “I’m trying to be what he would have wanted. But I can’t…it’s like everything’s gone. I don’t want to make new ideas when he’s not there to see them.”

            Ron wrapped his arms around his wounded brother and let him cry.

            Once George had calmed somewhat they started to talk as they never had before: as equals, brother to brother. There were three major results of that conversation.

            Firstly, George went to see a trauma Healer. He went through therapy once a week for over a year, and continued to go monthly for years after.  He learned how to accept his grief, accept being a person on his own, and eventually how to find joy in that.

            Secondly, Ron (after checking multiple times that he was welcome) explained to Harry that he was done with the Aurors. Bless him, Harry understood what his brothers needed, and helped Ron get through the process of quitting his job and beginning anew at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

            Thirdly, Ron convinced George that they could use a third person as an idea developer. George agreed, and Seamus Finnegan joined the team, to his husband’s relief.

            “Dean won’t let me blow things up at home,” Seamus explained. “This is wicked!”

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny Weasley Potter

            Ginny had wanted to play Quidditch since she was six. She wanted to play for the Harpies, then for England. Then she would settle down and have exactly two children.

            When she was sixteen, she wanted to survive the war, and for Harry and her family and friends to survive. She wanted to marry Harry and never let him go again, and they would have…well, maybe two children. Three would be okay too.

            And the war did end, and several people survived. Ginny carved the initials of those who didn’t into her broom and flew for the Harpies and Harry watched every game he could and she was happy.

            Then a job opened at the Daily Prophet for a sports correspondent.

            Ginny was getting tired of playing by then. It was an amazing world, and she loved her teammates, but she missed Harry, and she was intrigued by the idea of trying to write about sports instead of playing them.

            To her shock, she got the job. And as an even bigger shock, she realized that she absolutely loved writing. Scribbling notes during a game, cheering herself hoarse, watching the play intensely…it was brilliant, utterly brilliant. And the work was _hers_ , it was nothing anyone had told her to be, it wasn’t the dream of a little girl who’d known nothing of the powerful evil and the powerful good in the world.

            And to her great delight, her writing dovetailed quite nicely with her other dream; she didn’t have to stop writing when she was pregnant.

            When Ginny Weasley Potter was twenty-six, she was pregnant with her third child, and she laughed with delight when she had her little girl. And she promised herself that she would teach her daughter to chase her dreams, but to always remember that new ones would come unexpectedly, and that being ready to change your mind was the fastest way to happiness.

            She got a chance to do that hands on with her daughter and other girls when she came to Hogwarts to teach flying lessons.

           

Neville Longbottom

            Neville graduated after the Battle of Hogwarts. Everyone got the credentials that they wanted, no questions asked. Neville wondered how well he’d really done at Hogwarts; no exams in 2nd year, none in 6th year, and half of 7th year spent in the Room of Requirement, trying to protect everyone.

            He’d thought once of travelling and looking for new species of plants. Instead, he spent the summer working with Professor Sprout between funerals and hearings, restoring the greenhouses, getting new species, planning new lessons. Professor Sprout had always been his favourite teacher, even more so now because she let him work in peace and quiet next to her, tending to the wounded plants as a balm for his wounded heart.

            When August came, Professor Sprout surprised him.

            “I’m thinking of retiring, Neville.”

            “Retiring?” Neville looked at her in dismay. “But Professor—”

            “It’s time, Neville. I want to spend some more time with my wife.”

            Very few even knew that Pomona Sprout was married. Her wife was one of the owners of Honeydukes. Professor Sprout never missed a Hogsmeade outing.

            “I’m not leaving yet,” Professor Sprout continued. “I’ll give one more year; I owe it to Minerva and the students. Besides, I’ve got to train my replacement.”

            “Your replacement? Who is it?”

            “You, of course.”

            “Me?” Neville couldn’t believe it. “No, Professor, I can’t do that.”

            “Yes you can,” Professor Sprout said. “We’ll teach together in the fall, and after Christmas you can do some classes on your own and work on developing some new lesson plans.”

            “But—”

            “You hacked off Nagini’s head, you stood up to the Carrows and you protected all those kids,” Professor Sprout said. “Neville, you’ve found your courage, and you know plants. Think of the students like seedlings; they need strong roots and a guiding trellis. You can provide both. Now, hand me that Flutterby bush.”

            There was no more discussion, and in September Neville found himself facing the first class, a group of curious Ravenclaw first years.

            “This is Neville,” Professor Sprout said. “He’ll be Professor Longbottom soon, so listen to him.”

            She split the kids up into pairs to begin work, and Neville started awkwardly moving among them. He spotted a girl who could just barely reach the table, staring at the plants nervously.

            “Don’t use your wand, you’ll blow us all up, Worth _-less,”_ her partner sneered.

            “Enough of that,” Neville said sternly. “Jessica, you can go ahead and work alone. Five points from Ravenclaw. Any more nasty comments and it’s detention.”

            Jessica reddened and turned away. Neville summoned a stool and helped the first girl up. “What’s your name?” he asked.

            “Amy Worth,” she whispered. “And she’s right—I can’t do _anything._ Mum’s going to be furious.”

            Neville crouched so they were eye to eye. “It takes practice,” he promised. “Why don’t you speak to your professors about getting extra help? They’ll all be willing to do it. And you don’t need your wand for this. Now, the first step is to check if the plant is properly watered…”

   

* * *

        

Draco Malfoy

            Draco had no idea what to do.

            Suddenly poor and drifting for the first time in his life, he paced back and forth in his parent’s house, the place where once he’d believed he could do anything. Be anything.

            Now he was nothing.

            Five days a week for a year he was busy, working for his community service. He spent two months at St. Mungo’s, three working in the Compensation Office, another three at Hogwarts helping to repair damages (trying not to vomit as he worked to remove the marks of curses he and his group had fired), and the last four working to build houses for families who’d lost their homes. In every job he was mocked, spat at and checked carefully to make sure he was doing nothing wrong.

            Draco took the treatment in silence, accepting the blame, the snarls, the tears. He did everything he could to work through the problems, to help as many as he could. But what could he do for people who’d lost limbs to curses, lost family…lost children? He spent several nights late at work, trying to find more solutions, to do more to silence the screaming in his head.

            Oh he knew he was guilty, and at first he tried to justify some of it. He was young, he was raised that way, he was forced to. It didn’t matter. His actions were his own, and now he had to suffer the consequences.

            One much happier consequence was meeting Astoria. She was one of the few Slytherins who hadn’t been pulled into the Death Eaters, a highly intelligent witch who designed the new houses and did her best to make them look like homes on the inside. She could read people really well, which was why Draco was surprised that she wanted to spend time with him at all.

            “Can’t you see the rot in me?”

            “I can see you trying to clear it out,” she replied.

            It was the first time someone other than Harry believed in him.

            He kept working with Astoria after his sentence was up, kept going to see Harry, who somehow didn’t mind being an Auror and being seen in the company of a former Death Eater. Draco was wearing a long-sleeved shirt the hot August day Harry told him about the problems with Azkaban.

            “We’ve gotten rid of the Dementors, which is a great first start, but I want to rip the place to the ground,” Harry said. “There’s nothing there that even allows for someone to change, you know? People like Umbridge deserve to suffer forever, but there are others…and what about people who break the law in a small way? Why do they have only Azkaban?”  
            “We need a new prison,” Draco blurted out.

            Thanks to nearly a year of looking at housing plans, he started sketching immediately on a scrap of parchment. “We need to look at rehabilitation programs, and different levels, and treating people…well, like they’re human. Because they still are!”

            He looked up to see Harry staring at him.

            “What? Oh, they won’t let me do it. They might let Astoria do it, though.”

            “I think they’ll let you do it,” Harry said slowly, a smile coming to his face. “I’ve just never seen you so excited.”

            “Some people need a second chance,” Draco said. “If I can give it to them, and make sure that the people who deserve to be there are still treated like humans…that would be good work.”

            “You might want to look into Muggle prison systems,” Harry said hesitantly. “I think there are some in Denmark and Scandinavia that sound like what you’re thinking of.”

            Draco pressed his fingers together, his personal reminder to ignore his old prejudices. It was hard; it was why he kept so quiet. But he was trying, and every time it was a little easier.

            “That sounds great, Harry.”

            A year later he stood with Harry and Astoria on the island where Azkaban stood.

            “Ready?” he called to Harry. “You get the first try.”

            Harry smiled, a savage glint in his eye. “Bombarda!”

            Azkaban was blasted to bits, and with purifying charms Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger had created, the ground was secure. They’d build the new prison village here, with a tower for the people who really had no remorse in their hearts. They were in the minority though, and Draco had high hopes that there would come a day when most of the prisoners on the shore would walk free again, with the outside world understanding that they had paid their debts and were ready to be among people again and to feel happy.

 

* * *

 

 

Luna Lovegood Scamander

            Luna headed for the jungle after the last funeral. She answered Ginny’s owls, but that was it. She needed to drown out the memories of the basement, of the fighting. She’d always been able to hold back her sadness—losing Mum, not having friends—but Bellatrix’s laughs and Mr. Ollivander’s sobs and the terrible silence in the Great Hall with the dead wouldn’t leave her heart.

            She found new sounds, observing fantastic beasts in the wild, finding new ones, taking extensive notes. She visited with specimens and notes and spoke at naturalist events and came to every wedding, but it took five years before she really felt ready to come back for good.

            In those five years she’d been to every continent, discovered sixteen new species, and had seven lovers. Her favourite was Himari, whose speciality lay in magical fauna. Luna introduced her to Neville via owl and the three of them spent an amazing summer in Brazil, trekking up the Amazon.

            But Himari got back together with an old girlfriend at the end of the summer, and Luna let her go. It was alright, really. Himari didn’t want anything permanent, so she wasn’t surprised. And they stayed friends; Luna brought a tiny bundle of flowers when Himari’s son was born, and at Himari’s request named him Haru.

            But long before that baby was born, Luna was in Madagascar in autumn, and she got lost for the first time in years. It was getting dark, and she was nervous. There were tales of a creature who hunted by night in these plains, one that wasn’t afraid of wands.

            “Hello.”

            Luna spun.

            A man stood behind her. “You’re glowing,” he said.

            Luna looked down. The moon was coming up, and a faint beam of light was falling on her. “I am.”

            “Are you Luna Lovegood?” Her name sounded like an incantation in the stranger’s accent.

            “Yes.”

            “It’s an honour to meet you.” The man made a little bow. “My name is Rolf, and I am a humble naturalist. Would you like to join me for supper?”

            “Aren’t you worried about the Aye-Aye?” Luna asked.

            Rolf chuckled. “Ah, that old story is still around. I promise, Moonlight, there is nothing to fear. In fact, after we eat I can show you one.”

            Luna had never seen such an amazing creature, and was astounded to learn it wasn’t fantastic in the least.

            It was about a week later that she found out he was Rolf _Scamander._ It was also a week later when they both realized they were falling in love.

            And that was when it was time to go home.

            They did go on more trips, and when the twins were old enough they came along too. In between, Luna started to paint her favourite observations from memory and from notes. Rolf was astounded.

            “Moonlight, these are beautiful! And the detail…” Rolf peered at them. “You ought to exhibit them.”

            It took some persuading, but eventually Luna did exhibit her paintings, all but one.

            The one painting she kept at home was a small painting. It showed an Aye-Aye, peering up curiously at two naturalists trying to drown out their pasts, and in doing so found their futures in a moonlit night in Madagascar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Luna's art career partly on Marianne North, a naturalist/painter from Victorian times who was BADASS and awesome and her paintings are awesome, but Luna paints animals instead of plants.   
> See you tomorrow!   
> Cheers,   
> Acme


	10. A Dragon's Quest for Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco struggles through stages of forgiveness, but he isn't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For annegirlblythe, because she wanted to see more. Hope you like it, my dear.  
> Warning for attempted self-harm (very brief).

_Harry_

Draco showed up on a day he knew that Weasley wouldn’t be there. “Is Harry home?” he asked Kreacher.

            “Master Harry is home,” Kreacher replied. “Do you wish me to give him a message?”

            “I was wondering if I could actually…talk to him,” Draco mumbled.

            Kreacher stepped aside. “Ask Master Harry yourself.”

            Draco went in and followed the noise of clattering dishes downstairs to the kitchen. Harry was preparing meat and vegetables. “Hello Draco,” he said. “How are you?”

            “Well enough.” Only three people had screamed at him that day, a new record. “What are you making?”

            “Stew. Ron’s away on a mission, but Hermione and Ginny are coming to stay tomorrow, so I wanted to have something ready. Do you mind if I keep working on it?”

            “Not at all.” Draco fidgeted, watching Harry chop carrots. “I’ve actually never done that.”

            “Cooked?”

            “No. First it was D-Dobby, then we hired a servant.”

            Harry said nothing about the reference to the dead house-elf, for which Draco was profoundly grateful. He pulled a board out of the cupboard, set it on the table, and then gave Draco a large knife. “Here,” Harry said. He put a stack of carrots on the table. “You can help. They’re already peeled, just cut them in slices about this big.”

            Bemused, Draco did as Harry said. There was something soothing about the motion.

            “Do you do all the cooking?”

            “Most of it. I like to cook, and Ron’s a disaster. He makes decent puddings though, and he’s learning.”

            “But you have a house-elf.”

            “Yes, but I enjoy this part. Besides, today’s his day off. Or it’s supposed to be. He’s still practicing that.” Harry’s mouth thinned, and Draco wondered if anyone had ever told him how many of Minerva McGonagall’s habits he’d picked up. Like the piercing look he turned on Draco now.

            “How do you get food now?”

            “I eat out, mostly. Or I eat at my parents’. They still have enough to live on.”

             Harry nodded. “I’ll give you some recipes for easy stuff. I learned them when I was five, I’m sure you’ll get the hand of them.” He smiled, like that wasn’t a horrible thing to say.

            “Your Muggle relatives made you cook at five?”

            Harry nodded, his smile faltering. “I got okay at it. I like it better now; no one’s shouting at me to hurry up, and I get to eat it.”

            Draco shook his head, chopping the carrots more fiercely. He reached over for a strange looking vegetable and began to peel it. “You should get the Muggle Aurors after them. That’s no way to treat a child.”

            Harry actually laughed. “That was hardly the worst thing they did to me, Draco.”

            Draco finally got all the skin off—or most of it, the damn thing had too much—and start slicing into it, trying to cut it in circles like the carrots. “So why aren’t you cruel?” He asked. “Or terrified of everyone? You’re kind, and you’re good, and every damn thing you never saw. I was happy once that you were sad at home. I wanted you to suffer.” The circles weren’t cooperating, but he was doing his best.

            “Draco,” Harry said, alarmed. “I…I didn’t want to be that way.”

            “And that’s just it,” Draco continued, still slicing. “You chose. And some people are telling me that ‘oh, it’s because of how you grew up.’ Nice people are saying that. But you grew up feeling worthless and you’re not—and—damn it!”

            His eyes were hot and blurry, and Draco put the knife down.

            “Draco, stop!” Harry took the board away from him.

            “I’m _not_ crying,” Draco insisted.

            “I know,” Harry insisted. “It’s the onion. It makes you tear up when you cut it.”

            “How bizarre,” Draco said. Then he did burst into tears, burying his face in his arms.

            Harry sat next to him and put a hand on his back, but he didn’t say anything, he let Draco sob for ages.

            “I shouldn’t have done that,” Draco said at last.

            “I think you should have done that a while ago,” Harry contradicted him.

            “What do I do, Potter? That’s all you were once, you know. And I don’t know why you’re here, or why I’m here, why I’m in your house because I felt lonely. I have friends, people who are like me and don’t make me feel like utter shit about myself—”

            “I never meant to—”

            “It’s not you who’s doing it! It’s my heart, or my soul, or whatever thing I’ve silenced for years by convincing myself I was right, that my family was right!”        

            “Your conscience.”

            “Fine, it’s my conscience. And it never shuts up now! And I want it to, I know that I want to try to be good, but I have no idea if I even can. I grew up soaked in that evil, and I wanted it. What do I do now?”

            Harry was silent for a moment. “Well, you said it yourself already. I grew up being told I was worthless and freakish, that I should be ashamed of being alive.” He said it so calmly it frightened Draco. “I fought that, and I had people to help me. Maybe you can do the same.”    

            “You didn’t want to believe it.”

            “Do you want to believe what you were taught now?”

            Draco shook his head, biting his lip.

            “It’s not easy,” Harry told him. “I still have bad days. But I have people to call on. And you’ve got me. And I think you have your mother too.”

            “I might,” Draco admitted. “She wants to try too.”

            Harry nodded. “That’s good. So tonight we’re going to make stew and I’ll send some home with you, and you start working on it however you feel is right. Sound good?”

            Draco nodded.

            “Good. Now I’ll finish the onion. Do you want to get the water boiling?”

            Draco smiled. That he knew how to do. Perhaps the rest of it would come later.

 

_Hermione_

Hermione Granger was never so terrifying as when she was right and the person who’d made her angry was wrong. Draco was thankful that day that it wasn’t him.

            “Do you mean to tell me,” Hermione said icily to the contractor that Draco had brought in, “that you refused to put in normal protection charms on these houses because the family is _Muggleborn?”_

            “They’re bringing in their Muggle relatives!” the woman protested. “We’re not supposed to have visible magic in front of Muggles, Madam Granger!”

            She was lying. Draco knew it. So did Hermione.

            “Miss Pence, are you pretending to be stupid? Because all of the house plans include the specifications, _including_ how each spell has been tested to ensure that no Muggle would notice. Do you have any other arguments?”

            “We’re building houses for Wizards, Madam, not Muggles.”

            “Get out,” Hermione said, eyes narrowed. “And while you’re being arrested for anti-Muggleborn actions, you remember that I’m a Mudblood myself.” She rolled up her sleeve. The scar was fading[1], but you could still make out the word. “A guard will me you out there. Goodbye.”

            The witch made a move for her wand, but Draco stopped her. “Don’t.”

            Once Pence was gone, Hermione looked at him. “Thank you, Draco, for catching her.”

            “The idiot was being quite loud about her feelings. I just did something about it.”

            “I’m going to speak to the people who kept silent too,” Hermione said reflectively. “They’re not much better.”

            Draco went to leave, then stopped. “You know, I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I don’t think she hated that specific family. I think she just hates everyone like that. She might feel differently if she met them, but it’s not like she hates each and every Muggleborn for personal reasons.” He knew that from experience.

            Hermione put her head in her hands. “Maybe not, but the effects of her behaviour are personal. That family—the Shepards—they lost three children. The mother was in Azkaban for seven months. They’ve been waiting for a home for three months already, and this will delay it another few days. Every act of hate against a group will have consequences for the individual, and believe me, it is much harder to take when you know it’s not personal.”

            Draco bowed his head. He wanted to say something, wanted to acknowledge the depth of what she had just said, but nothing he could say could take away the scar on her arm. She knew exactly what she was talking about, and part of what she knew was from his hands. He was the first to ever call her Mudblood.

            He left the room without a word.

            When Hermione came in early the next morning she found a note on her desk.

            _Dear Hermione Granger,_

_The Shepard house is done, they can move in today if they want to. All the furniture is also set up._

_I am sorry I never gave you enough chance to know you personally before I hated you. I will never take that chance from someone again._

_Draco Malfoy_

_Ron_

His meeting with Hermione left Draco plummeting into despair. The more he thought over his past, every little deed, every step he’d taken with his head held high, the more he realized that there was nothing he could ever do to fix it. How could he? He could work the rest of his life and do good deeds every day and cry for shame until his eyes dried out but nothing would change what he did. There was no point.

            One night he found himself, almost as if by accident, standing in the bathroom with a knife at his wrists. There was no blood yet, and he threw the knife down, sickened with himself. What right did he have to end his life? How dare he try to escape? But he didn’t know what else to do…

            In desperation, he Apparated to Harry’s house. It was the middle of the night, but Harry had said anytime (why had he said that? That was what you said to friends). Too nervous to knock, he unlocked the door and swung it closed behind him.

            The hall light switched on, and Ron Weasley was looking down at him from the stairs.

            “I heard you Apparate. What the hell are you doing here?”

            “Is Harry here, Weasley?” _Be polite, Draco. Don’t think about how awful you’ve been to him, you can’t handle that right now._

“No. He’s sleeping over at Ginny’s.” Weasley didn’t look entirely happy about that, but Draco supposed that was because Harry was shagging his sister.

            “Very well. I’ll go then.”

            “You don’t look well, Malfoy.” Weasley came down the stairs. “Why are you here?”

            “None of your business, Weasley.”     

            “Why is it Harry’s business?”

            “Because he told me I could—” Draco cut himself off.

            Weasley, however, seemed to be cleverer than he looked. “It’s guilt, isn’t it?”

            Draco was honestly astonished. “How did you know?”

            “I recognize the look. And Hermione told me what happened last week. She said you did beautifully on the house, by the way. The family’s settled in.”

            “That’s…that’s good.” He didn’t want help from Ron Weasley. He did _not_.

            “Want a Firewhiskey?” Weasley asked abruptly.

            “What? Oh…yes. I suppose.”

            “C’mon then.”

            Draco sat across from him in the kitchen, nearly in the dark except for the small candle Weasley lit. Draco poured himself a full glass and swallowed most of it in one go.

            “Did you know I left them last year?” Weasley asked out of a dead silence.

            “What?!” Draco hadn’t known, would never have dreamed.

            “I got so angry, and the—well, there was an outside force. I’m not telling what, we haven’t discussed if we want to tell the whole damn world. Anyways, I got into a terrible fight with Harry and left them. And because of the charms they put out, I couldn’t find my way back. It took months to get back to them.”

            Draco stared into his whiskey.

            “I don’t know how to live with it,” Ron said hoarsely. “I’m just grateful they’re alive. If something had—had happened, and I wasn’t there, I would probably have killed myself. Which is why I don’t envy you at all right now, because most of your mistakes are dead, aren’t they?”

            Draco took another swallow. “Damn right they are.”

            “And the live ones make it worse.”

            “I’ve done too much to go back!” Draco burst out. He was always a light weight, and he could feel the alcohol running through his veins. “What could I ever do?”

            “You try.” Ron leaned forward. “You do everything you can, and eventually someone will believe you. My girlfriend believes I mean it. My best mate believes I mean it. You were a wanker, Draco. And I don’t trust you yet, and if you hurt Harry I will personally kill you. But he believes in you, and I trust him. So I’ll help what I can. And if that means forgiving you…then I’ll try. I sure as hell said nasty things about you, and it’ll be very uncomfortable for me if I was wrong about you.”

            Draco’s head was spinning. He felt Weasley help him up, and the two of them staggered to the front room. “Why’re you helping me?” he slurred as Weasley put a blanket over him.

            “Because I want to be a decent person and that’s what decent people do. Besides, I saved your life. Twice. I want to make sure you feel it’s worth living.”

            Draco woke the next morning with a raging hangover, but still made it out of the house before Ron woke. With the last of his weekly allowance (he couldn’t work but they had to give him enough to live on), Draco sent a dozen bottles of fine whiskey to Ron’s work address, and enough money for Ron to buy Hermione flowers.

            _Tell your girlfriend she’s a good woman, and tell yourself you’re a good man. Thanks for stopping me from doing something stupid._ _You were right. I can’t give up._

_Draco Malfoy_

_Ginny_

When Draco received a wedding invitation in the mail, he was sure it had to be a mistake. There was no way he should be receiving an invitation to the upcoming wedding of Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter.

The last two years had been difficult, but he’d slowly been spending more time with Harry, and even visited Ron and Hermione on occasion. But Ginny hadn’t been living with Harry long, and she was often away. Or made excuses to be away.

            Draco didn’t blame her. His father had nearly killed her for petty revenge, and he’d led some of the attacks at Hogwarts during his seventh year and her sixth. He’d never hurt her directly, but he’d hurt her friends. Of course she hated him.

            So why the hell was he coming to her wedding?

            Maybe Harry had addressed it and she didn’t know? Draco discarded that thought immediately. They told each other everything, and if either one was ‘in charge’ it was definitely Ginny.

            There was only one thing for it. Luckily his small office in the Ministry as ‘Head of Correctional Affairs’ was on the same floor as the Daily Prophet (or would be for another six months, until everyone agreed that it was high time the newspaper find other headquarters). Ginny Weasley had her head down writing at her desk, but she looked up when she saw him, invitation in hand.

            “Hello Draco. Are you going to come? I wasn’t sure whether to put Astoria on or not, but she’s welcome too.”

            Draco stared at her. “You want me to come to your wedding?”

            “We sent an invitation, didn’t we?” Ginny still looked confused. “If you don’t want to come, that’s fine. I imagine it might be a bit awkward for you…”

            Draco snapped. “Of course it will be awkward! Most of the people there have good reason to hate me.”

            “They’ll behave, or hear from me about it,” Ginny said calmly.

            “Why would you even want me there?”

            “Harry wanted to invite you, and I didn’t see anything wrong with that.”

            “But you…hate me?” Now Draco wasn’t so sure.

            “Don’t be daft.” Ginny signed her name with a flourish.

            “But you’re never there when I come over.”

            “Because I know you’re having difficult conversations with Harry, and I want to give you space.”

            “You should hate me!”

            “Why?” She was still calm, how was she calm?

            “My father almost killed you!”

            “I know.” Ginny folded up the letter she’d been writing and placed it in an envelope. “I hate his guts, but I don’t hate you.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because you’ve been trying, Draco.” Ginny’s voice was gentle. “You’re trying to be a good person, and you’ve been working really hard to make things better…I think that’s good.”

            “I don’t deserve any praise for that. It’s just the right thing to do.”

            Ginny laughed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Draco, but a lot of people find it very hard indeed to do the right thing. Including you, once upon a time.”

            “I don’t think I’ve done enough to earn your forgiveness. Or anyone’s.”

            Ginny looked up at him, giving him her full attention. “You don’t get to decide that, honestly. That’s up to the people you’ve wronged. And yeah, some people won’t forgive you, or they haven’t yet, or they may have and you don’t know it, but forgiveness comes from the wronged person, not the one who’s done the wrong thing. That’s why it’s called _giving_ forgiveness and _earning_ forgiveness.”

            Draco was stunned.

            “In my view, you are earning forgiveness by doing what you are,” Ginny said. “You’re remorseful and you’re doing everything you can to make things right. It may not be enough yet, but you’re doing _enough_ to have the chance to get it someday from whoever you may need it from. You’ve certainly earned mine and Harry’s, and we want you at our wedding. Think about it, at least?”

            And he did come the next month (“how on earth did they pull this off in a month!” Astoria said. “It’s amazing!”) He sat in the back and endured the few unfriendly looks. To his surprise, the majority were simply bemused and disinterested, all except the ring bearer, who climbed on his lap and touched his hair curiously. Perhaps he’d never seen hair quite so light. His grandmother came to pull him away, and she looked at him. “Draco Malfoy.”

            “Hullo, Mrs. Tonks.”

            “It’s Aunt Andromeda, weren't you taught any manners?” But the woman’s face was soft even as she scolded. “Tell your mother I’d…I wouldn’t mind coming around sometime. And I’d like to see you. Is this your girlfriend?”

            “Yes, Aunt Andromeda. This is Astoria.” Astoria smiled at her.

            “Bring her along. It’ll be interesting.”

            Draco and Astoria left shortly after, leaving their gift of a new stewpot, an onion cutter and a set of high end quills and inks on the table with the rest.

 

_Neville_

There was one person who hadn’t forgiven Draco Malfoy, and that person received a sharp jolt when he received a reply from his son’s favourite teacher.

_Dear Draco,_

_You’re right, it does feel odd to write to you. There were certainly times in my life when I prayed for the day that I would never see you again. Sorry for being so blunt, but I figured I would just start writing and keep going, since that’s the easiest way to tell how I feel._

_I will help your son to be a good man, Draco, I will promise that right away. But I don’t agree that you can’t help him. I think you’re a better man than you want to believe._

_I haven’t tried to be your friend the same way my friends have in the last ten years. I’m still not your biggest fan, and perhaps there’s too much bitterness there. But I have also grown to respect you. I know what it feels like to work on becoming something you’re not._

_I was shy and awkward, timid and I didn’t have the courage to fight. I thought I was going to be like that forever. Then through Professor Lupin and Harry’s efforts, I gained my confidence, I gained skill when I got a wand of my own, and I managed to carve my own path. I faced my parents’ tormentors, I protected those who couldn’t, and I fought for what I believed in. And I became happy._

_But I still saw myself in the mirror as that lonely little kid who couldn’t do anything right and had no hope of ever changing. I felt like a sham, terrified any moment that someone would see through the mask._

_Then I started teaching, and I met Amy Worth, who in many ways was very like me. Amy was nervous and not very good with wandwork at first (it turned out she had nerve damage in her hands and couldn’t channel her magic through a normal wand. Mr. Ollivander made some adjustments and now she’s working with him). But when I told her we were similar, she didn’t believe me. She told me I was too confident to be like that._

_I’d never realized that I had changed so drastically, and that I truly had become a different person. As I told your son, that boy is a part of my history, but I am not him anymore. I am not wearing a mask; I have simply shed a layer, and this is me now._

_And who you are now, the man who raised your son to be so kind and the man who changed our prison system, the man who has worked for nearly twenty years to make himself better…you are no longer the boy who tormented me. He will be part of you, but your new self is not false. This is the self you are choosing to be, and I’m quite proud of you. Your son is too, and he will be prouder still when he understands the trials you’ve gone through to change yourself._

_You’re not finished growing yet, and it still takes work to keep being good and strong. But I promise it gets easier. It’s time to let go of your guilt, Draco, and try to forgive that boy. That is the hardest step, but once you do the memories hold less power, and your new self can breathe easier. You might say it becomes natural, because you have changed your very nature._

_If you need any help, I am willing to try, though as I say I doubt we’ll ever be friends. I don’t think we have to be friends to help each other though; just two men who were once boys they aren’t anymore. We’ve outdone our own expectations, and you need to take some comfort in that, Draco. I forgive you. Forgive yourself. Do it for your son if no one else; he needs to believe that people can change._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Neville Longbottom_

When Draco got that letter, he fell to his knees and stayed there for hours, crying silently and rereading every word.

            “Am I allowed?” he whispered hoarsely. “Do I dare forgive myself?”

            He didn’t that day, but with permission given from his greatest regret, Draco worked towards that forgiveness.

 

[1] Don’t you judge me   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this has given everyone more context as to Draco's place in the whole troupe, and how he came to it eventually.  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	11. A Sporting Good Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little interlude about sports at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to a chapter about sports written by someone who knows exactly zero about sports! I got help from a friend for this one (the same friend with the Yaxley line), so if I make any mistakes, yell at me, because that means I misunderstood her.

Harry would look back nostalgically to 2012 often. When asked why, he would say mournfully, “there were only three of them then.”

            Three what? Three Quidditch players at Hogwarts in their extended family, that’s what.

            You see, Teddy was a Seeker for Hufflepuff, while Victoire and Dominique played for Ravenclaw. But that didn’t really matter. Harry had no problem cheering for both teams, and Teddy got along well with both of Bill’s daughters, (though in very different ways. He only kissed Victoire when Hufflepuff won the Cup). You could talk about Quidditch at the dinner table.

            But then Freddie Weasley went to Hogwarts and became the second youngest Quidditch player in Hogwarts history, taking to being a Beater with great enthusiasm.  Then Roxanne went, and when she was in second year and made Chaser, James and Lou went to school too. By the time they were Chasers on opposing teams, the grownups were starting to realize there was going to be a problem.

            It wasn’t that any of them were less good friends than their older cousins. They had their special favourites, but they were all keen to spend time together. No, these four were just less…laid back. Far more competitive when it came to Quidditch.

            Things came to a head when Albus, Rose and Scorpius went to Hogwarts. Albus was a wretched flyer and didn’t even try to make the team, but he cheered on his friends every match. Except the ones when they played Gryffindor, where he cheered for his brother too. He was the only one who did that. The others were friendly off the field but it was open war once the Quaffle was in the air.

            By the time Lily and Hugo started playing, it was clear to the adults that something had to be done. The conflict was starting to come off the field, and Roxanne stopped speaking to Lou for a good two weeks over a Quaffle mishap. There were now family across all four house teams, and Harry was bearing the brunt of the complaints. He finally lost patience with them in the Great Hall one night.

            “Enough!” He bellowed as loud as he could. “No more Quidditch talk off the field, understood?! You’re family, this is stupid and it’s just a _game_!”

            Hermione laughed until she cried when she heard that story. “I thought Quidditch was more than a game,” she taunted him in his office.

            “It’s not enough to start another damn war over,” Harry replied, grading papers. “I’m starting to think it’s really unhealthy to put this level of competition between the houses.”

            He looked up to see a very smug look on Hermione’s face. “Go on, say it.”

            “What?” Hermione said innocently. “Oh, do you mean that _I told you so ages ago?”_

“Yes, that.”

            To Harry’s relief, the fights did stop after that. Roxanne and Lou made up, and the others dialled down their rivalries. They saved it for the Quidditch matches at family reunions, which was alright because Molly Weasley the first was still a formidable force and wouldn’t let arguments affect supper.

            And eventually Quidditch did stop being house based, and took on the model of the track and football teams.

            “Wait, there’s football at Hogwarts?”

            Indeed there is. And here’s how that happened…

* * *

 

It started the summer before James’ fourth year and Albus’ second.

Professor McGonagall was joining Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione for tea, and she was telling them about letters from parents she’d received.

            “We always get letters from the Muggle parents about sports, but this year I got over a dozen. I suppose there’s been a spike in the Muggleborn population, but really I’m not quite sure what to do.”

            “What do you mean exactly Prof—Minerva?” Harry corrected himself.

            “They don’t think Quidditch is a real sport. They say their children have scholarships to schools that have football, and they want to send them there instead. I thought school was about education, not the sports you can play!”

            “Well yeah, but I do see their point,” Harry said slowly. “It might be nice to have another sport. But you’re not really against it, are you Professor? You’re just trying to find someone else to say yes.”

            “You’re getting too sharp for my tricks, Harry.” Minerva nodded. “There’s been resistance from faculty for a long time. Some of their reasons are good—Quidditch is well established, we want to encourage magical skills, and the house rivalries are already at high levels. We don’t need more conflict. On top of that, we’re not quite sure how to play football, nor if enough of the students would care to even try it.”

            “I don’t know if I can solve all of the problems,” Harry said slowly, “but I think I have a solution to one of them.”

            Dean Thomas opened his front door about an hour later. “Hello Dean,” Professor McGonagall said briskly. “Would you be interested in coaching football at Hogwarts?”

            Dean’s joyful shriek nearly split the air.

            So that’s where it began. Dean had notices up, and several students signed up to try. The Purebloods were mystified by the stationary balls, and most of the students weren’t very good at running. Undeterred, Dean organized scrimmages three days a week that fall, and those who kept coming did make some improvement. When the weather turned poor, Hagrid helped Dean to set up a tent under which was a football field, and the shivering students would kick off their boots at the door and run in. James joined in between Quidditch practice, and wrote to Harry enthusiastically about how fun football was. “I can make it to class faster too now!” he continued. “It’s a lot easier to run.”

            The trial year was a success, and over the summer Dean came up with a plan. He allowed for eight teams of eleven players maximum. Four of those teams were the recreation teams; these teams rotated frequently, and were mostly for people who wanted to have fun or had too many other commitments to play too regularly. The other four would compete against each other (there were no other wizarding schools that had football teams), and whoever won would get a Football cup. Dean wrote in the rules that each team had to have at least one member of each of the four houses, and if there wasn’t enough room for everyone to play he could re-evaluate.

            The first real year he didn’t have to re-evaluate; there still weren’t very many students (only 500 now, though that number was going to climb), and there was actually only enough interest for three rec teams. But everyone had a marvelous time, and as the years went on there would be plenty of footballers at Hogwarts. Some of them, after graduation, actually went to play professionally, and Dean had to invent a school (he called it Rowlings) at which these kids had played. Soon ‘Rowlings’ was actually playing against other schools, and holding their own.

            But before that happened, there was another athletics area to be added to Hogwarts.

            And this, oddly enough, was track and field.   

            After football had been allowed in there came more clamoring for Muggle sports. Harry was now a teacher, and he didn’t see the harm in it. The grounds were huge, after all, and there was plenty of room to set up a track with all the events.

            Cho Chang was one of the coaches, and she and her Muggle husband (whose glasses were enhanced so he could see the school) were almost as enthusiastic about setting up the opportunity as Dean. No one could be as enthusiastic as Dean, though George Weasley maintained that Oliver Wood in his seventh year could give him a run for his money.

            But Cho had gotten through a lot of her grief through exercise; it was how she’d met Chris in the first place. She wanted to give the students a chance to get fit in some sports that had nothing to do with teams, ones that let you just _run_.

            There were less takers for track and field, though once again it proved to be a novelty for the Purebloods. The problem of competition was solved by most of the sports being individual, and by the time Lily Luna Potter was in third year ‘Rowlings’ had acquired a track team as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did everyone read this chapter? Because I will NOT be writing it again.   
> Though there will be a couple of scenes related to Quidditch, football and track and field, particularly romantic ones...after all, James did say he liked playing football with Abby, and I mentioned Miss Lily Luna for a reason... :)   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	12. Love in Time (Original Generation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some headcanons on the original generation's love stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, is there a better word for them than that? Their kids are the 'next' generation...idk.   
> Also, I WROTE ABOUT SEX. Non-graphically. But I still wrote about it.   
> Another also, just to be clear, Harry is demisexual (also biromantic, but that doesn't come in here). And this one...well, annegirlblythe can tell you about how I reacted when I realized that there was technically canonical support for that sexuality.   
> But enough blather! On with the love!

Harry & Ginny

            Harry didn’t cry when Ginny told him she’d been accepted to play for the Hollyhead Harpies, so she’d be travelling a lot. He cried three days later, when he offered to break up with her and she held him for hours, promising that she still loved him.

            It took years to forgive himself for the year of leaving her, all the uncertainty, all the time he hadn’t been in love with her. It took years for her to forgive herself for not realizing how much needless guilt he carried.

********

            When Harry has bad days, he goes and walks around London for hours and hours, sometimes under the Invisibility Cloak. When he gets home, Ginny makes him tea and nearly smothers him in blankets, even when it’s a hot summer day. She still has that coldness in herself too.

            When Ginny has bad days, she can’t stop herself from crying. Harry doesn’t freeze in front of her tears. Instead, he cuddles her on his lap and rubs her back. When they have children, he lets them play in the same room; he was worried at first, but James and Al and Lily just understand that “Mummy’s blue” and they let her calm down and come back to them at her own pace, and then they all play a rousing game of Hide and Seek.

********

            Harry was very unaware of his own body before he dated Ginny. He’d never been all that enthused with sex, never found the need to draw his curtains as often as his roommates had (he would always quietly retreat to the common room if he saw anyone with them closed). He was even less aware of girl’s bodies. Ginny taught him how to enjoy sex, and he learned to, but it’s always been more about giving her pleasure. Their sex is hardly ever serious; they laugh, they’re playful, and sometimes it just settles into cuddles and tickles in the middle. Harry’s also made it clear that he’s okay with Ginny enjoying herself without him, although watching her is one of his favourite activities.

********

            When Harry and Ginny announced their engagement, Molly Weasley whipped up a feast immediately and sent out Patronuses to their entire family. Near the end of the night, Harry came to thank her and Arthur again for giving him permission to ask their daughter to marry him. “It’s like I’m really part of the family now,” he said.

            “You’ve been real since I made you fudge for Christmas,” Arthur replied, and that was the end of that conversation.

********

            The week before Harry proposed (though Ginny didn’t know it at the time), Ginny went to Godric’s Hollow alone. It was a beautiful summer day, but nothing could quite erase the sadness of the graveyard.      She went over to an old white marble gravestone. There were two newer monuments on either side; one was a tiny dogwood tree with a plaque in front enscribed ‘Snuffles’, and a multicoloured geode on the other, with the initials NT and RL engraved in it.

            Ginny took a deep breath. “Alright. I know that you don’t know me Mr. and Mrs. Potter. And Harry and I weren’t together when you were alive, Sirius. And we were broken up for a lot of time Dora…Remus…but I promise I love your kid. He’s brilliant, and he’s amazing, and he’s so good to me. I’m sure you’re really proud of him wherever you are. I promise I’ll take care of him, and I’ll let him take care of me too. I just wanted to tell you before I asked him.” She felt a bit silly. She knew they were gone, that they’d crossed over. They probably couldn’t hear her.

            But when she stood, she swore she could smell lilies.

           

Ron & Hermione

 

            Ron doesn’t write down any notes about their days. Their anniversaries, their big moments, nothing. He’s never been good friends with the written word. Instead he measures them by a special set of hourglasses that pour beads instead of sand, cascading down slowly in their kitchen. He rarely needs them, but they’re pretty, and there’s something truly satisfying about turning them over at the end of a holiday, looking forward to the next.

********

            Ron used to take his bad days out on Hermione. Hermione took out her bad days on Ron. That stopped before they were married. Now they retreat to the garden, working on it the Muggle way, except for the winter plants Luna brought back for them from Tibet. Sometimes they’re together, sometimes it’s just one, but it always ends with tea and Ron’s biscuits at the kitchen table, because that’s where they get the most sun.

********

            Crookshanks, of course, lives with them, but when Hugo is five he begs for a puppy. They have the room, and Crookshanks is the one who chooses a small brown puppy who quickly grows into an enormous dog. Chocolate and Crookshanks become fast friends, and when Chocolate finally reaches her full growth Crookshanks sometimes sleeps on her back.

********

            Sex surprised both of them. For Ron, his only experience was with Lavender, whose passion had been grabby and intense. Hermione had a few quiet moments with Krum, but those were more about holding and being held. When they lie together, it becomes about exploring, finding what works, what doesn’t. They adventure, they explore, they try everything they can. They make love to music, they have sex in the day, and they finally feel comfortable in their own skin and desires.

********

            When Hermione found out she was pregnant, she was worried. Ron had grown up with a Mum who stayed at home, and Hermione respected that. But it wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to keep working, to keep pushing for rights taken for granted by some and desperately needed by others. So she was relieved when the first thing out of Ron’s mouth (after a cry of joy that brought tears to her eyes) was, “do you mind if I start working part-time? I’d like to be home with them.”

            So they worked out a schedule; after her year of maternity leave, Hermione walked with the children to daycare for the morning, and Ron picked them up at lunch.  

 

Neville & Hannah

            Neville didn’t date much at Hogwarts. He’d had a brief crush on Ginny Weasley, and another on Ernie MacMillan, but they hadn’t lasted. He’d struggled so much with feeling like anyone would like him. Friendless, brainless, helpless, hopless[1]… _he_ wouldn’t date him.

            But then the war happened, and things like that didn’t seem to matter. With Dumbledore and Harry gone, and Voldemort breathing down their necks through the Carrows and Snape, Neville had no reason to look in the mirror. He had to take care of things, had to save people, had to keep fighting and hoping and refusing to bow.

            And Hannah was there with him, her body bent from curses and grief, her home empty, her eyes haunted. But she was still so kind, so keen to help people stop suffering. She and Neville would stay awake long into the night, supporting the lonely and hurt. Sometimes she would fall asleep with her head in his lap, and he would stroke the tangles out of her hair. Sometimes he would fall asleep on her shoulder, drifting to a quiet lullaby.

            When the Battle was done, Neville went to check on Hannah. “Get some sleep, love,” he said.

            He hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t realized that it was no longer scary to admit that he cared for her. Somehow he’d discovered that he was, in fact, likeable. And she was loveable.

            Hannah smiled back tremulously and took his hand. “I’ll only be able to if you’re there.”

            So Neville conjured some cushions in Greenhouse One and they fell asleep together under the Flutterby bushes.

********

            Hannah started working at the Leaky Cauldron on Aberforth Dumbledore’s reference [“the girl made my place feel cheerful, she’ll do brilliantly”]. She loved the pub, loved seeing all the new people, and it helped to pay for her tuition at a Muggle university. She’d gotten her NEWTs, she could have easily gone straight to working as a Healer, but magic wasn’t enough. She wanted to understand the body from a Muggle perspective.

            Years later, she would coach Lucy Weasley through Muggle university applications, but for now Neville would sit in on a couple of classes with her and they would have supper at the pub before they went back to their little cottage.

********

            Hannah and Neville take a while to get around to getting married. It’s a little unusual, but neither see the need. It’s not until Freddie Weasley, Neville’s best student, asks if Madam Hannah would like to be married that Neville realizes he should probably ask. Hannah was agreeable, and they had a quiet wedding with their closest friends. His students give them enough plants to start another garden as gifts.

********

            They don’t have children of their own. They’re happy in each other, happy to work side by side whatever they do. But just before Neville’s twenty-fifth year of teaching, they meet a student who goes straight to the Hospital Wing first week of class. They adopt Bailey and his nameless infant sister by the Christmas holidays, and they name the baby Mary Alice.

 

Luna & Rolf

            Luna’s heart was broken long before she was ever old enough to fall in love, and that shapes the way she feels about people leaving. Harry was first pushed to fix the old mirrors when Luna couldn’t travel with Rolf for a month due to a nasty cough, and they used them near constantly.

********

            Rolf’s mother Nadeen was suspicious of the British witch her son had fallen in love with, naturalist or not. Nadeen was married, after all, to New Scamander’s second son, and knew the gossip about him choosing an Egyptian bride. To her relief, her daughter-in-law doesn’t treat her like an exotic creature, and they get along very well, helped along by a mutual adoration of art and of Rolf. Nadeen weaves them a blanket every Christmas, and Luna sends one of her paintings. They don’t talk about religion, but Luna wears a headscarf when she visits, and joins her in meditation. She never converts (and Rolf himself isn’t practicing), but she respects the depth of Nadeen’s faith in a world where magic is allowed but beliefs in a higher power are frowned upon.

********

            Luna knew Rolf was the right one by the way he talked about having kids. He said that children were fascinating, and that he wanted to let the children they had lead how he parented. He even offered to take Polyjuice so he could be the one that experienced pregnancy, but Luna was alright with being pregnant.

********

 

            Luna developed her way of coping with bad days before she ever met Rolf, so he was a little surprised when she vanished one day without telling him. She returned a few hours later, soaking wet. The next time she goes to dance in the rain, he Apparates with her.

********         

            Luna derives a lot of pleasure from sex, but she doesn’t know how to ask for it as often as she wants it. Rolf is the one who learns to speak her language, and to let her know that she’s allowed to have those desires and he’s more than happy to fulfill them.

 

George & Angelina

            Angelina didn’t forget about their kiss all those months of the war. But it wasn’t the right time, and she couldn’t bring herself to be there for George as much as she should have. She regrets that at first, but George finally sets her straight. He didn’t want her there during the war. Knowing she was protecting her family and keeping her head down was all he needed to know.

********

            As much as she loved Quidditch, Angelina doesn’t pursue it the way that Ginny and Oliver did. She thought about being a Healer, but she can’t stand to see people in pain the same way Hannah Abbot can stand it. During the war, she discovers her true passion; childcare. Looking after several Muggleborn refugees at her home translated into a daycare after the war for any children below Hogwarts age. Some of her clients can pay, others can’t, but Angelina adores her work, especially when it lets her spend more time with her own children. She just wishes that George wouldn’t bring so much _merchandise_ when he drops by.

********

George and Angelina have an understanding with Katie and Oliver Wood. They’re not always open, but there are definitely nights when the four of them end up in bed together. Besides being incredibly hot, it helps to work out some of the frustration left over from the Quidditch field (Oliver can be persuaded to submit), and heals the cracks where someone is missing. They have their own relationship now.

********

            When George and Angelina moved in together, there were no mirrors. Angelina coaxed George into buying one, and by the time Freddie is born there are enough reflective surfaces for the baby to be constantly entertained by the other baby in the mirror. George keeps his hair short though, above his ear, just to be sure.

 

Percy & Audrey

            On his first day at the Ministry after the war, Audrey and Percy bumped into each other at in the elevator. Percy was instantly smitten, to the point that he apologized when Audrey spilled her tea on him.

********

            Audrey is three years older than Percy. She graduated the year before he became a Prefect, and doesn’t know much about him from school. Percy is profoundly grateful for that.

********

            Percy enjoys the bondage portion of BDSM (both ways), but he’s unwilling to inflict or receive pain. Audrey can work with that.

********

            A year after they started dating, Audrey was going through the Department of Magical Law and discovered piles of falsified records of Muggleborns and Order sympathizers. It takes her less than five seconds to recognize Percy’s handwriting from his love letters (one a day on her desk), and five hours to read through each and every one, marvelling at the careful, clever work. Percy had never planned to tell her, and was very surprised when she brought it up. He was even more surprised when she asked him to marry her.

********

            Any ambition beyond being a good person again vanished from Percy’s mind after the war. He still worked as hard as ever, but he went as far as to avoid promotion. Audrey, a halfblood whose mother had been placed in Azkaban for crossing her Death Eater boss, had even more fire in her blood. She worked to climb the ranks, and Percy felt mostly content to stand by and let her.

            That was, until she ran for Minister for Magic after Kingsley Shacklebolt retired.

            Percy had to gather all his courage to face his quickly rearing insecurities, and he tried to search for why he was so upset. He looked at his daughters, who were both at Hogwarts now, both growing into fine young women who fought to be better than they were.

            And that was the problem. In giving up his ambition, he’d stopped fighting to make himself better.

            By the time Audrey was elected nearly unanimously, Percy had changed jobs. He was back in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and he had big plans to make sure that his wife’s international alliances were the best they could possibly be. In the years to come, he would champion Lucy’s ideas about technology, consulting with witches and wizards all over the globe to create a committee on magic’s interaction with Muggle systems, and how they could smooth out any ‘bugs’(he really hoped Lucy was joking about the computers being full of creepy crawlies. He couldn’t stand them).

            Once he straightened out the filing system. What on _earth_ had they been doing all these years?

Draco & Astoria

            While Draco was still doing community service, he was given just enough to live on. Harry helped him out with extra money, and Draco swallowed his pride, thanked him, and bought Astoria jewelry. She loved sparkly things, and didn’t care whether they were imitation or not. Later in their married life, he was able to afford real rubies, diamonds and sapphires, but her favourite necklace was one with sparkly beads he’d given her on their very first real date.

********

            Astoria and Draco are in a Dom/Sub relationship. It’s a good thing that Astoria had plenty of experience as a Dom, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to tell the fine line between Draco’s pleasure-centred masochism and his occasional desire to be punished, to hurt, to cleanse his soul of guilt. She doesn’t let him get away with that after his first subdrop; it’s about pleasure and trust. As far as she’s concerned, absolution doesn’t happen in bed.

********

            Draco was terrified the first time he’d met Astoria’s parents. After all, he was a Death Eater, a Malfoy; her parents must disapprove of him. He continued to be terrified throughout the visit, but not because her parents hated him.

            No, it was because Astoria’s parents were stark raving mad.

            Her father was a simple kind of mental; he’d named every object in the house, but other than that he was a very pleasant man, and confided in Draco that he’d once been attracted to the Death Eater philosophy. “I couldn’t commit,” he said. “I got out before it was too late, but I was lucky. You can get over it, lad. It doesn’t poison your mind forever.”

            Her mother, on the other hand, was a whole other kind. She told outrageous stories that Draco couldn’t help believing, given her level of detail and conviction. When Draco accidentally spilled a few drops of tea on his sleeve, she screamed and tried to call a Healer, worrying that her ‘future son-in-law was going to be scalded for life!’ It took a while to calm her, but Draco couldn’t help feeling pleased about the ‘future son-in-law’ part.

            When they left, Astoria squeezed his hand. ‘They liked you.”

            “I like them,” Draco replied. He paused. “Were any of your mother’s stories true?”

            “A few of them. Trouble is, her memory’s starting to go and we’re not sure which ones are made up anymore. She’s remembering more from when she was young, so the ones when she was a girl are new, but so are the ones from before she met Dad.”

            Draco paused for a moment, content to just walk, worried about asking the question.

            “You can ask, Drake, it’s okay.”

            Draco flushed. “Your mother…”

            “She was born a man,” Astoria confirmed. “She went through a potion regime that gave her the ability to bear children. She carried me and my sister. Was it the height?”

            “No, it was her throat. She still has a bit of an Adam’s apple.” Draco put his arm around her. “I’m happy they liked me. I was a bit worried.”

            “They’d be mad not to. Well, mad _der._ ”

            Draco looked at her, astonished.

            Astoria giggled. “I know they’re not sane, Draco. But they’re not hurting anyone, and they know enough to realize when something is too far. They’ll be fine for now.”

********

            Astoria calls him Drake or Dragon when she’s feeling playful. Draco calls her Tori except when they’re in bed (or he wants to go to bed).  

********

             When Draco begins to work in the prison system, Astoria follows him. Her magical architecture background is vital to creating a reasonable blueprint (and for creating temporary prison quarters for the prisoners). She also helps Draco go through the files and try to categorize crimes in a new way, to find patterns of redemption and patterns of complete hopelessness. The work is hard on both of them, but they solve that by joining a Muggle singing group. No one knows or cares who Draco is there, and it turns out he loves to sing.

           

Bill & Fleur

            Fleur knew that Bill was the one when a year had passed and he hadn’t made her Change. Her Veela blood was diluted; she was only a quarter, but it left her with a few instincts. One of them was Changing when a man made her feel insignificant in his life. Fleur never Changed their entire marriage.

********

            Bill is the only Weasley child who actually remembers the first Wizarding War. He remembers his uncles, his father’s best friend Timothy Bones, even meeting Lily Evans Potter once when she was pregnant and looking at a house in the area for her and her husband. He rushed back to England when the Second one started, and it was only Fleur who really saw how scared he was, and how hard he tried to hide it from his siblings, how much he felt like a child again.

********

            Everyone thinks that Bill is the luckiest man on earth because he has a beautiful wife. “Part Veela, hm? Lucky boy!”

            Bill does think it’s lucky. He feels lucky that Fleur trusted him with the secret that she was gray-asexual, and that when they do have sex she lets him see how vulnerable she feels, how insecure. He’s grateful for the chance to teach her how much he loves her, how beautiful she truly is, and for the fact she’s willing to bear him children.

********

            Shell Cottage was a safe house during the war, with exhausted, hurt, broken people coming through when they were home (and sometimes when they were out on missions). When the war ends, they buy incense and open every window during a storm, washing out the old hurts and fears, hoping to have a clean place again. They still build new rooms for their children, just in case. They can bear the strain of memory. Their children shouldn’t have to.

********

            Bill understands Lou deeply. He’s okay with using ‘he’, but there are certainly days when he doesn’t quite feel like a male. He buys Muggle women’s clothes, not just dresses, and he and Fleur spend some afternoons playing dress-up.         

 

Dean & Seamus

            They weren’t a couple at Hogwarts, no matter what anyone says. Dean was happy when he was with Ginny Weasley and (very briefly) with Michael Corner, and Seamus was coming to terms with being gay. They didn’t become a couple until the day after the Battle, when they took a walk outside the Hogwarts grounds, down the path to Hogsmeade, hand in hand without thinking.

********

            When Dean finds out about his father, three weeks before their wedding, he bursts into tears and immediately tells his mother. The idea that a father he’d hated for so long for leaving had been killed trying to protect his family, that he wasn’t a Muggle but a wizard, sent him reeling. Seamus offered to put off their wedding, but Dean refused. When he walks down the aisle, he goes down arm in arm with his mother, and his father’s watch, broken in the Death Eater attack, firmly in his pocket.

********

            The wizarding world has a mystifying attitude towards gay people. In that no one really cares, but no one really talks about it either. Dean and Seamus have no trouble getting a marriage license, but to their shock they discover that they are still expected by Seamus’ family to acquire a female in order to have kids. Neither of them want kids; instead, they adopt several cats and go to football and Quidditch games together.

********

            Before he starts training Hogwarts’ football teams, Dean works at a Muggle women’s shelter. When he realizes there are no equivalent institutions for wizards, he starts one. It sounds simple, but there are so many more levels to the problem that he needs help. Luckily, Fleur Delacour and Parvati Patil are happy about the prospect, and they help develop it. When he isn’t coaching, Dean spends his time helping witches change their identities, relocate, lobby for more laws about prosecuting abusers (which has Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy’s attention) and teaching the children who ran with their mothers how to draw, and how to protect themselves from bad people. Seamus is very proud of him, and he brings toys to the shelter from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He also participates in the pickups and drop-offs; he’s learned to control his explosions, and he can channel an Irish temper just as well as his mother.

********

            Dean is an incorrigible romantic when it comes to sex. Seamus lets him get away with it, because the romance does make him feel needed. He still won’t let Dean bring roses home, though. He has to draw the line somewhere, and he really hates that flower.

            Dean understands, and brings him carnations instead.

 

Cho & Chris

The war damn near broke Cho. She gave up on trying to be strong, gave up on being brave. She started to drink and didn’t stop for two straight days. When she woke, to her surprise she was in a room with Viktor Krum. Viktor handed her a Hangover Cure and a Portkey ticket.

            “You need some time,” he said.

            Cho remembered how much Cedric had liked Viktor. She took the ticket.

            She travelled to Florence. Hot and sunny and far away from the Wizarding world, Cho gradually came back to life. She wrote her mother only to tell her yes, she was still alive, learned Italian, and tried gelato from every store in the city until she found her favourite.

She gained ten pounds, and for the first time in her life she didn’t care.

            On the other hand, when an adorable Canadian student named Chris let her cut in line at the gelato store (“ladies first, please”; she found out later that was his attitude towards orgasms), she did agree to go on a run with him. They ran up a hill outside the city, and Cho was exhausted when they got to the top, but they watched a beautiful sunset together.

            When Chris left, she followed him. They backpacked across Europe together, and when Chris quietly brought up that he wanted to see London, Cho returned with him.

            To her shock, Chris wanted to contact an old friend of his. Dean Thomas.

            Dean was a second cousin through his Mum. Chris knew about the Wizarding World, and wasn’t surprised at all when Cho revealed she was a witch. “I thought you might be. But you didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t.”

            Chris ended up staying in England. He got a visa with the help of the Ministry (Kingsley had an excellent relationship with the Prime Minister), and he and Cho lived in Berkshire. Chris got a job teaching physical education, and when his visa ran out they got married. They spent a lot of time travelling together in the holidays, and Cho ended up starting to film their adventures. Her wand stayed in her pack, but she used it less and less as the years went on.

********

Cho stays in touch with Harry, and she tells her daughter Tina about Cedric. Chris would have felt jealous, but he knows his wife loves him now. That’s all he really needs. And he knows that she needs to explain to her daughter (and to herself) how those romances changed her, made her, broke her. 

********

Cho was taught that sex was for procreation, nothing more. Chris teaches her otherwise, and they run the gamut of sexual experience before they settle on positions, times, toys and safe words. Their daughter isn’t born until five years after their marriage.

********

When Tina is little, she has to make a family tree of flags of where she comes from. There isn’t much room for Cho’s Chinese and Welsh flags, Chris’ Canadian, Mi’kmaq[2] and Scottish flags, and finally the England flag, but they do their best.

 ********

            Cho and Chris compete against each other, running for fun and for prizes. Chris is strong in triathlons; Cho takes a while to learn how to ride a bike properly. But she leaves him in the dust during marathons, including the one she ran four months pregnant.

 

[1] Line from Princess Bride

[2] First Nations Tribe in Nova Scotia, Canada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed! If anyone wants me to expand on any of these, feel free to ask (except for the sex ones. For now. If anyone would like to expand on them themselves, feel free as long as you send it to me too :)). Next week we're going to check in with someone we haven't seen yet.   
> Cheers,   
> Acme


	13. The Consequences of Eavesdropping (2007)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes little ears hear things they're not meant to, and Teddy sees a part of Bear's story he's never heard of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for referenced child abuse.   
> I do realize this chapter is a bit incongruous with last week's chapter, but keep the timeline in mind. Also, I'm referring specifically to the adult Dursleys in this (though Ginny still carries a grudge towards Dudley).

            When Bear told him that he and Fairy were going to have another baby, Teddy was delighted. James was good, but there were loads more games you could play with two.

            “When is the baby coming, Bear?”

            “About six months, lad,” Bear promised.

            “Can I come when the baby’s born? I want to see.”

            Bear paused. “Well…”

            “I’ll be seven!” Teddy protested.

            “Maybe I should explain how babies are born before you make that decision,” Bear said.

            About half an hour later, Teddy was quite positive he never wanted to _see_ a baby.

            He got over that, and spent most of his visits chatting with Fairy’s belly. The baby couldn’t talk back, of course, but Teddy wanted to make sure that the baby knew his voice. Uncle Percy gave him lots of advice about babies, and Teddy listened to it all. He’d only been little when Jamie was born, and now he was determined to be the best god-brother ever.

            The day Albus was born he had been a bit cranky, and he was worried when he and Bear and Jamie sat in the hospital, but soon everything was alright, and Fairy was beaming as she held the baby. Teddy gazed at the tiny creature, and blinked in surprise when the baby grabbed his finger. “Hi Al,” he said. “I’m your…” he hesitated. “Bear, Fairy, can I just tell I’m his brother? It’s hard to explain god-brother to a baby.”

            “Of course,” Bear whispered. “I think he’ll be happy to have two big brothers.”

            Albus was very boring the first few weeks. He just sort of…was there. But it was okay, because now Teddy could see him when he was talking, and he didn’t cry as much as Jamie used to. Jamie was crying a little bit now, trying to get Bear and Fairy’s attention, and Bear made sure that when he had Albus in a sling, he had Jamie on his lap and Teddy curled into his side. Fairy did the same. Teddy thought they were brilliant.

            A couple weeks after Albus was born, it was Victoire’s birthday, and they all went to Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur’s house. Teddy proudly gave Victoire the recorder she’d asked for. He’d bought it with his own pocket money, and Victoire clapped when he gave it to her.

            Albus was in the sling with Bear, and Teddy went over to them. “Albus, look! Victoire’s got her recorder.”

            “I think he needs to sleep now Teddy,” Bear said gently.

            Teddy covered his mouth. “Sorry.” He blew the baby a quiet kiss. “I’ll ask Victoire if she can keep her recorder quiet. Grandma helped me pick out one that could do that.”

            Bear smiled. “Wonderful, Teddy.” He started to get up.

            “Where are you going?”

            “I’m just going to get some more punch.”

            “I can get it for you!” Teddy said eagerly.

            Bear’s eyes narrowed. “Because you think I might let you have more yourself?”

            “It’s really good,” Teddy tried. “Besides, you might wake Al up.”

            Bear chuckled and ruffled Teddy’s hair. “Alright, lad. Go ahead.”

            Teddy skipped to the kitchen. He got on his tiptoes to reach the table, huffing when he still couldn’t reach.

            Uncle Ron picked him up. “Getting another glass? Didn’t Ginny say no more?”

            “Bear said I could have some when I got his.”

            Uncle Ron laughed. He poured Teddy two glasses of punch, and put him down. “There you are. That’s very helpful of you, Teddy.”   

            “I like helping Bear.”

Teddy carried the glasses to Bear, and drank his own quickly. He didn’t want to get Bear in trouble with Fairy. When his glass was finished, Teddy returned to the kitchen, and was surprised to see Uncle Ron standing there with Aunt Hermione. Aunt Hermione was having a baby soon too, which made it tricky for them to stand close together, but they were trying.

            “It’s nice that Harry’s doing so well with his children,” Aunt Hermione said. “All of them.”

            Teddy wanted to agree—Bear was great—but Uncle Ron replied before Teddy could say anything.

            “Of course he’s a good parent,” Uncle Ron said. “He’s always been kind, and besides, he’s got a foolproof plan for success, doesn’t he? Just do the opposite of the Dursleys.”

            “Ron, hush!” Aunt Hermione had spotted Teddy. “What are you doing, dear?”

            “Just putting my glass back,” Teddy said. Aunt Hermione held out her hand for the glass, and Teddy gave it to her.

            “Run along and play, sweetheart,” Aunt Hermione said.

            Teddy did return to sit next to Victoire, but he was distracted until Victoire showed him that her recorder could make sounds like a lion.

            Teddy went home later that night with Grandma, and he was nearly asleep when she put him into bed. “Goodnight, darling,” she whispered.

            “Grandma?” Teddy asked. “What’s a Dursley?”

            Grandma looked at him sharply. “Who said anything about them?”

            “I don’t remember when,” Teddy said. “I just don’t know who they are.”

            “They…they’re the people who took care of your godfather,” Grandma said. “They’re a Muggle family. The mother is your godfather’s aunt, and he lived with them when he was younger. That’s all.”

            “Okay,” Teddy said, pretending he was still sleepy. He wasn’t though, not at all, and when Grandma left the room Teddy lay wide awake and did some thinking.  

            If the Dursleys had taken care of Bear, then they must be his family. But Teddy had never met them. He knew that Bear was like him, and his parents were in Heaven since he was a baby, but Bear had never talked about the Dursleys. He’d only ever talked about Hogwarts and staying with Fairy and her family. Maybe he didn’t like them because they were Muggles? But that wasn’t right, because Aunt Hermione’s parents were Muggles, and Bear thought they were lovely. Jacob and Helena had come over for tea once, and they brought Teddy a teddy. He still had it, and he clutched it now as he thought.

            Maybe the Dursleys were in Heaven too? But no, Grandma said ‘is’, not ‘was’. You said ‘was’ about dead people. So they were alive, and if they were Bear’s family, still alive, and he didn’t mind that they were Muggles…

            But what had Uncle Ron said? “He just has to do the opposite of the Dursleys.” To be a good parent. That must mean that the Dursleys weren’t good parents. But Bear couldn’t have had a bad family! That wasn’t fair!

            But things happened that weren’t fair. It wasn’t fair that his Mummy and Daddy were in Heaven, and Teddy did miss them, but he had Grandma and Bear and Fairy and all his aunts and uncles. That was pretty fair.

            Teddy started tossing and turning. _The opposite_ …

            He started thinking about everything Bear did for him. He took him to the park, played games with him, took him on motorbike rides (but those were a secret), helped him when he was ill, sang him songs and let him sleep with him and Fairy when Teddy had a nightmare. If Uncle Ron meant the opposite of _everything,_ did that mean Bear didn’t get any of those things? And what about normal things, like making him food and helping him with his shoes (he still couldn’t tie his shoes properly, they always got unlaced) and…and giving him a place to sleep? To feel safe?

            Hadn’t Bear had all those things when he was Teddy’s age?

            Maybe Uncle Ron was exasperating, Teddy thought hopefully. He did that a lot, Aunt Hermione said so. But Teddy heard them arguing sometimes, and Aunt Hermione only said ‘Hush’ when Uncle Ron was right but little kids were near. She’d said that when Uncle Ron said that Mummy had always worn her hair pink.

            Teddy’s hair was a soft brown right now as he thought about all that. Had Bear been lonely? Had he felt like no one listened to him? Had he been sad all by himself? Because he made sure Teddy never was, and maybe that was opposite too…

            Teddy buried his face in his pillow and whimpered.

            *******

            He didn’t sleep much, and Grandma looked worried when he came down for breakfast.

            “Teddy, what’s the matter?”

            “I…I have a question for Bear. Can I go see him?”

            “You’re going over this afternoon, can’t it wait?” Grandma reached out for him, but Teddy couldn’t stand to wait.

“Please, Grandma? It’s important.”

“Alright, sweetheart. Are you sure you’re okay?”

            “I’m okay.”  He was. It was Bear who might not be.

            Grandma brought him over to the fireplace. “Here you go,” she said, handing him the tin of Floo Powder. Teddy took a careful handful and threw it in. “Number 12, Grimmauld Place, please,” he said as he stepped in. He closed his eyes as he started to spin, only opened his eyes when he saw a flash of bright pink; Jamie’s toy unicorn. He jumped out of the fire.

            Fairy was sitting by the fire, nursing Albus. “Hello Teddy,” she said, surprised. “What are you doing—”

            “Where’s Bear, Fairy?”

            “He’s upstairs,” Fairy said. She looked worried. “Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine, Fairy. I just need to see Bear. It’s important.”

            “Well, go upstairs and see him.” Fairy still look worried, but Teddy didn’t look. He started to run up the stairs. In his hurry he tripped and fell, banging his knees. He grabbed the banister to stop sliding.

            “Teddy!” Bear was at the top of the stairs, and he rushed down and knelt next to Teddy. “Are you okay, sweetheart? Let me see.”

            Teddy started to cry. Bear tried to scoop him into his arms, but that made it worse. Teddy fought him. He didn’t want a hug, he didn’t want something else that Bear had never had. His sobs grew louder.

            “Daddy?” he heard dimly. It was James, also upstairs. “Daddy, why Teddy sad?”

            “Teddy, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Everything’s okay, love, I promise.”

            “No! It’s not!”

            “Harry, take Albus and let me…”

            Bear let go of Teddy and Fairy took hold of him, bringing him into her arms. Teddy curled against her, wailing. He felt Fairy pick him up and bring him downstairs, and he gripped her shoulders. “I don’t want to go back to Gran’s!”

            “Hush,” Fairy soothed. “I’m just sitting down in our rocking chair. It’s alright, darling. I’m right here.”

            Teddy sobbed against her for ages, and Fairy just kept rocking back and forth. She was warm and soft, wearing the dress he and Bear had picked out for her for Christmas. Teddy slowly calmed down, but he stayed quiet. Fairy rubbed his back and Teddy closed his eyes.

            Fairy held out a handkerchief. “Can you blow for me, sweetheart?”

            Teddy nodded and blew his nose. Fairy cleaned the handkerchief and summoned a glass. “Auguamenti,” she whispered. When the cup was full, she handed it to Teddy. “Drink it slowly, okay?”

            Teddy obeyed. The water was nice and cold, and it felt good in his throat. When he was finished, Fairy took the glass from him and cuddled him back against her, rocking again.

            “Can you tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

            Teddy buried his face in her shoulder.

            “Are you angry with Bear?”

            “No!” Teddy said quickly. “I’m not angry with him.”

            “But you are angry with someone,” Fairy guessed.

            Teddy supposed he was angry, but he wasn’t angry most. “I’m sad most,” he said.

            “You’re sad.” Fairy frowned. “Can I guess, and you tell me if I’m right or wrong?”

            Teddy nodded. That sounded okay.

            “Is it something to do with us having a new baby?”

            Teddy frowned. “No. Why would I be sad about that? I like having god-brothers.” It would be nice to have a god-sister, he reflected, but there needed to be time between babies. Uncle Percy had explained that.

            “That’s good,” Fairy said. She looked relieved. “Is it something that happened at the party yesterday?

            Teddy had forgotten that Fairy was mostly a good guesser. He nodded.

            “Did Harry do something?”

            “No.”

            “Did anyone do something?”

            “No.”

            “Okay…was it something somebody said?”

            “Yes.”

            “Was it something that Harry or I said?”

            “No.”

            “Was it Uncle Ron?”

            Teddy gaped at her. “How did you know?”

            “Because my brother’s got a history of putting his foot in his mouth,” Fairy said, her mouth twisting.

            “Uncle Ron didn’t do that,” Teddy said. He was confused. Uncle Ron couldn’t even touch his toes!

            “It’s an expression. It means that he says things sometimes that he shouldn’t say.”

            Suddenly Teddy was angry. Uncle Ron shouldn’t be getting in trouble! It wasn’t his fault. “Uncle Ron should have said it,” he said loudly. “It’s not his fault the Dursleys were bad.”

            Fairy went pale. “The Dursleys?” she asked. “Teddy, why was Uncle Ron talking about the Dursleys?”

            “Aunt Hermione said Bear was good with kids,” Teddy told her. “Which he is. Bear’s brilliant. But Uncle Ron said of course he was, because he knows that all he has to do is do the opposite of the Dursleys. And I asked Grandma, and she said that the Dursleys were the people who took care of Bear. But B-Bear takes care of me really well, and James and Baby Al, and…Fairy, were they bad to him?”

            Teddy wanted Fairy to tell him he was wrong, that Uncle Ron was exasperating, something like that, anything. Instead Fairy hugged him tight.

            “Yes, Teddy, they were.”

            And Fairy told him the story.

            “Your God-Grandmother was a witch, but her sister was a Muggle. God-Grandmother was the first witch in her family, you see. And her sister—her name is Petunia—”

            “I don’t like petunias,” Teddy said. He’d always thought they were ugly, and was relieved that Grandma didn’t grow them.

            “I don’t like them either,” Ginny said. “And Petunia…well, she was jealous that her sister got to be magic and she didn’t. And they fought a lot, and Petunia married a man named Vernon Dursley, and they have a son named Dudley who’s a little bit older than Harry.”

            “When Bear’s parents were killed, he went to live with them. He was only a baby, and they didn’t want him.”

            “Why wouldn’t they want Bear?” Teddy mumbled, playing with Fairy’s hair.

            “Because he was magic,” Fairy said. And now she was sort-of-crying. “And they weren’t very nice to him at all. But he had to stay with them because he was safe there, because they were family.”

            “They don’t sound like family. They’re _not_ family.”

            “I think you’re right,” Fairy told him. “They didn’t treat him like family.”

            “So…” Teddy looked down. “All the things we do together, and everything he does with James and Al…that’s the opposite?”

            “Ron was exaggerating a little bit—”

            Teddy felt a surge of hope.

            “He wasn’t really talking about particulars,” Fairy continued. “But your godfather grew up in a house without much affection, without love and without anyone really looking out for him.” Fairy’s lip trembled. “We had him to stay as much as we could, but he…he had to keep going back.” She wiped her eyes.

            “I hate them,” Teddy said fiercely. “That’s not what you’re supposed to do. They were bad.”

            “It doesn’t help Bear to hate them,” Fairy told him. She started rocking again. “I know you want to, and that’s okay. I hate them too. But what’s most important is that we help Bear now, so he doesn’t keep feeling bad. Do you understand?”

            “You mean…we be a good family to him? Am I doing it right?”

            “Yes, you are,” Fairy said, kissing the top of his head. “Because you love him and you do nice things for him. But remember Teddy, you’re not his parent. He’s your Bear and he takes care of you. But you don’t have to be perfect for him to be happy. Just…just let him know you love him.”

            “I will,” Teddy promised. He snuggled against Fairy. “Are they still alive?”

            “Yes, they are. Harry’s trying to look for his cousin, but he doesn’t see his aunt and uncle.”  

            “Good. I don’t want to ever see them.”

            “I don’t think it would be a good idea if either of us saw them,” Fairy said rather grimly. Before he could ask her what she meant, she continued. “What matters is here and now, Teddy.”

            Teddy nodded. “Can I see Bear? I promise I won’t scream again.”

            Fairy smiled at him. “Of course you can. Does your knee still hurt?”

            “It’s okay.”

            “Good. I’ll come with you and take the boys so you can have a proper chat.” Fairy carried him up the stairs. Bear stood outside the nursery, his face worried. Teddy held out his arms, and Bear took him, cuddling him as close as he could.

            “Teddy, is everything okay?”

            Teddy lifted his face to Bear’s. “Everything’s going to be okay, Bear,” he promised, putting his arms around Bear’s neck. “We’re your family now, and we love you.”

            Bear’s chest heaved, and Teddy felt him kiss the top of his head. “I love you too,” he whispered. “I love you so, so much.”

            And Teddy felt sad, because Bear had never heard that when he was Teddy’s age. But he promised that no matter what, he would always tell Bear that he loved him.

            And Bear would one day become Harry and Fairy would be Ginny, except when they were alone, but that promise stayed true no matter how old Teddy got, no matter if they were cross with each other.  

            You didn’t outgrow some things.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone isn't too horribly sad! And that cuddles made up for it if not!   
> If you have the time, I have a question up on my tumblr about this series, and I would love everyone's input. It's at illuminating-dragons.tumblr.com  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


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